


Lavender, Always.

by GlassTable



Category: Dickinson (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And she's not cool with it, Emily finds out, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/F, Medium Burn, Sue has an OnlyFans, Top!Sue, buckle in folx it's a long one, just basically all sex w feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-23 22:14:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 45,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30062310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassTable/pseuds/GlassTable
Summary: I’m speechless at how quickly she managed to completely turn the situation in her favor. I've never seen this side of her before. It's not like I know her well but.. how could someone have this hidden inside of them? Maybe Sue truly isn't an empty opera house. A hallway of mirrors perhaps, reflecting what everyone wants to see. A crystal clear pond that runs too dark and too deep.“Between us, there’s only one way you found those videos. Oh, last thing. You really shouldn't come for me again. You saw the videos. I break girls like you for fun.”
Relationships: Emily Dickinson/Susan Gilbert Dickinson
Comments: 81
Kudos: 165





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First fic ever?! But couldn't resist an emisue enemies-to-lovers saga. V queer and will be multiple chapters. Will also get progressively filthier. Emily is a total bottom, Sue is a total top
> 
> TW: marijuana use, Emily being a total brat, consensual sex work

The ding of the “seatbelts” light on the plane wakes me up. I wipe a bit of drool from the corner of my mouth and look down at the stanzas I’d been scribbling in my notebook. _Mechanical bird, marienette_. The ceaseless cover of clouds I’d grown accustomed to has transformed into an endless scape of rooftops, lazy smoke stacks. Rivers curling around industrial flat tops. I check my phone and am not surprised that I have service now. 

I’m not one of those people who utilize 'airplane mode'. I figure, if the plane is that delicate, who am I to avert Death? Are all of us passengers just offering electronic tithes to Him? Small moments of disconnection, of inconvenience as sacrifice to spare us oblivion. Perhaps the request is more rooted in obedience. I, for one, have never been considered obedient. I'm not going to start today. 

There’s an open text from Mom that brings me out of the spiral.

**Mother Dearest: _12:43 pm_**

**Rain in Tulum! Mexico misses u already :) I miss u too. have fun this semester, don’t let ur Dad convince u to change majors** ****

I smile. She’s a lot but she’s mine. We've done some major relationship-repair with our extended vacation. New York starts to materialize around me in earnest and I already have a headache. Well, I’m back.

Father is waiting at the gate for me with a sign, ' _Hola Emily!'_ in script that's clearly not his own. For an architect, his calligraphy sucks. He looks uncomfortable, public gestures aren't his forte. I briefly wonder if Marla put him up to this. Her's is twirling and delicate, hopeful. I half-hug him while balancing bags on my shoulder and a rolling suitcase with a broken wheel.

“Can we go?”, I interrupt the hug.

“Yes, of course. Your carriage awaits.” He’s a nerd but he’s mine. I mean, he’s Austin’s and Lavinia's as well, but Austin rarely needs him like I do. Lavinia caters to him, I challenge him. I’ve been dreading this flight and subsequent destination for 6 months since I took a semester abroad with my Mom. Seeing him helps. 

Their divorce was finalized only 7 months ago and so... we packed out bags and left. It didn't matter where. Austin was in Amherst already but I doubt he would have taken the leap with us anyways. He’s too focused on the family firm and appeasing whatever Father wants. Mom, after years of playing the Long Island house wife, is experiencing a renaissance of her own with several Mexican gentlemen. She wears bathing suits all day, smiling it's a good look for her. 

Father, on the other hand, took the divorce to mean: 'Logically, it is time for another wife' and moved my new Stepmom Marla into the Hampton house along with her adult god-daughter. I have to assume the god-daughter is defective or something, 22 and living with Marla? Like some sort of ward. Maybe she's sickly. Oh, better yet, maybe she's _deranged_. That might be fun.

Before I can decide what must be wrong with her, we’re pulling off the parkway. 

\----------

I wish it was night when we arrived. Night would have felt _much_ more dramatic as I’m essentially arriving to the funeral of my childhood. I should be wearing a veil, but no. It _**has**_ to be the early afternoon. It _**has**_ to be humid, bright, the birds all screaming some domestic bliss loud enough so that we all believe it. 

We roll into the driveway to the Hampton house. I might not need to mention but-- my Father is super rich. Old money rich. He’s made a small fortune himself but the Dickinson name is well known around here. He designed this house and I grew up in it with Lavinia and Austin. And Mom, clearly. I hadn’t prepared for the feeling of being here without her and it's sickening. Worst yet, two new presences. Walking those halls. Wiping their feet on the mat. 

_The strangeness, entwined and in-veined. Lack within, lack without._

_I see Death in all changes._

It would have been much easier if I could have just scuttled off to my room, taken time to breathe and write a little. What people don’t understand about writers is that, when we aren't able to purge our stanzas, it _hurts_. Physically hurts. I imagine tiny ants in my finger tips, multiplying and searching for ground soft enough to burrow. Ground. Paper. Whatever. 

Father's car door slamming is the only thing that rouses me from my rumination. 

“I’m just going to go upstairs and put my stuff down”, maybe I can get out of this meeting. I can fake being tired for 30 days, right? 

He clears his throat and glances around, “I believe Marla had set a lunch that should be starting soon. I know she was expecting you.” A mixture of concern and confusion, his standard tone.

“Fine. Let’s get this over with”, I huff. 

\----------

The kitchen has always been too much. White and marble everywhere, it’s gauche. Like if a science lab fucked a greek veranda. I’m typically more eloquent than this but I really hate this kitchen. 

Marla is bustling around and throwing random green things into a pan. When she turns, I immediately dislike her less. She has a warm face, tanned from the Sun, and a jade pendant hanging from her neck. The look of someone frequently outdoors who _actually_ enjoys it. Father is seated at the island. I throw myself into a chair and move it slightly closer to him as a slight. He notices me and closes his book. 

“Emily, I’m glad you’re here” he starts, attempting to make his voice light. It's like someone once taught him- _'this is how normal people talk.'_ I respond, instantly, as I typically do but with a tad more kindness. 

“Yes, of course. I’ve heard _legends_ about this lunch. You couldn't keep me away, really”, I turn to Marla now. “It’s just _wonderful_ to meet you.” 

“Emily! I’ve heard so much about you." She seems relieved, I wonder if Father warned her about me. People tend to handle me gently. Not as much like a ticking bomb but more like a grumpy cat. I'm all claws and hiss and curling only on deserving laps. I sense the presence behind me crossing the threshold into the kitchen before I have a chance to turn.

“Sue, come meet Emily. I mean, you're family now.”

When she enters my vision, I can’t help but stare. She’s not what I expected… she’s brilliant. She hasn’t spoken a word but it’s the only thing that comes to mind. Brown hair pulled into a messy bun, a yellow cotton shirt hanging loosely around her thin frame. Like if late summer were a person, if sunflowers had a face. She’s a lot smaller than I imagined. And I’d be lying if I said she wasn’t beautiful too. Objectively, of course.

She’s also familiar. _Wait_ , I think I know her. Why is she so familiar? 

“I’m Sue”, and her confidence radiates from every word. It’s clearly not natural but something practiced, it fits her like a suit tailored but for someone else. I can sense something that I can’t put my finger on. _I know this person_. 

“Hey. I’m... Emily. How are you?” Sometimes I wonder how I’m so adept at writing but so socially awkward. I sound like an interviewer. It’s a weird thing to say, everyone in the kitchen trains their eyes onto me. 

Sue gives a short laugh in response. “I’m good, thank you.” She purses her lips but a small smile tugs at the corner. Oh. I know what this is. Condescending with a splash of polite. I don’t like her. I really don’t like her. This girl, whoever she is, is clearly as fake as her confidence. 

“Since I’m a literal adult and already have a decent sized family, the standard 5.5. Marla as the .5, of course." I glance at Marla who nods, "I’d like to think of Sue and I more as co-dwellers in the same cave for the next month.” 

“Emily. That’s a bit rude, don’t you think? It’s been wonderful having Sue with us for the summer” Father interjects, a hint of a warning. “In fact, I’m glad you’re both here. I have something to share.” Sue glides over to the chair across from me, moving effortless. 

“I know Emily is getting ready to return to her studies at New York University.” He continues. Okay, weirdo. No one calls it _New York University_ , Father. “ _And she plans to move into the Townhouse with you._ ”

Yes. The Townhouse. A beaten up property in the West Village that Father acquired with the hope of continual renter income. It had been vacant for the last few weeks and, according to our agreement, I’d be moving in with a friend or two once the semester starts. I still needed to find that friend or two, but that’s doable, right? 

Father continues as much as I wish he wouldn’t. “Sue is also returning to her studies in August. And, we were all thinking, it doesn’t make sense to have her rent when we have two open bedrooms”, What? No. “Sue will be moving into the Townhouse with you. It is fiscally responsible and you might have time to, er, become friends.”

“That wasn’t our agreement. What? No, I mean, with all respect Sue, you seem fine. Renting is great in New York, I’m sure Sue doesn’t want to share space with me. I’m disgusting, truly. I hate recycling, I’m filthy. Bring on the roaches. I… smoke cigars. Inside. It’s horrible. All my friends steal, constantly. Is that what you all want? Someone to steal Sue’s kidneys as she sleeps, safely in her bed?! Look at her, the girl needs her kidneys. She's wasting away as it is.” I’m grasping for straws at the moment. Something about living with Sue instantly feels dangerous. My stomach is in knots even thinking about her being in my space. All the time. Everywhere. Her all over.

Father is unphased by my apparent confession. “This isn’t a discussion, I’ve— _we’ve_ , made our decision.” And with that, he glances in Marla's direction, picks his book up again and pretends to pick up where he'd last left it. Eyebrows rising like the random print is _oh so interesting_. Sue’s giving that tight-lipped trace of a smile again when she turns to me. 

“I’m clean enough for the both of us. And quite adept at recycling. My kidneys are in prime working order. If it happens once, we’ll revisit that conversation.” Condescending wink.

Oh yes, I definitely don’t like her. And she’s too familiar. 

I definitely know this person. So I stomp out of the room, towards my desk and my papers, still trying to figure out exactly who she is.

\----------

I relax into the wood swing, watching the water. It’s nearly 2am and I’m sneaking around like a teenager, having spent the last few hours having an internal meltdown in my room. I wish Lavinia was here to make a joke and distract me with her exploits but she’s currently hours away at college. Hanging with her friends, getting turned out I’m sure. Based on the tinder screenshots I’ve been receiving from her, she’s quite popular. I’ve got half a joint smouldering between my knuckles, large inhale and exhale. The swing creaks with every movement. 

I missed the hum of the cicadas in the Hamptons. Peaceful and uncomfortable, a shoe I've outgrown.

A branch snaps behind me and I throw the joint as far as I can before turning to look. It’s Sue, standing 5 feet away, clearly as surprised to see me as I am her. She silently raises her own unlit joint. That annoying smile again. 

“I didn’t know the swing was taken,” she says.

“The swing isn’t in the will so… you can join if you want.”

“I didn’t know you knew about this spot,” She half laughs.

In unison, we both respond.

 _ **“It’s the only place the security cameras can’t see.”**_ She invites herself to sit down next to me. I can’t help but notice she smells like a mixture of oatmeal and lavender. 

“I want you to know that I still hate you, I’m just too high to care right now”, I throw out flippantly. 

“I didn’t know we were on the ' _hate_ ' basis, I actually think you're pleasant, cheerful even. A bundle of joy. I just need to be high right now”, she retorts quickly as I had, the sarcasm dripping from her voice. A piece of hair tumbles in front of her face, almost black in the darkness, as she leans down to light her joint. The way the flame flicks and casts against her cheekbones… I feel like writing again. I shift in the swing slightly. 

“So today was really weird. Are you... ok?” She’s being nice. Normally I’d respond well but I can’t stop thinking about us coexisting for the foreseeable future. I wonder if she showers in the morning or the night. I mean there’s two bathrooms but I still don’t want to share water pressure. And I definitely don't want to be naked while she's naked, even if it's a floor apart.

“Well, my entire next year is going to be vastly different. I’m not in Mexico anymore. There are strangers in my house. How do you think I’m doing? You wouldn’t get it. That's no slight to your emotional intelligence or anything, it's just different for me.”

“That’s assuming of you. For what it’s worth, my Mom died a while ago. Dad left when I was 8. He ran off, started a better family. They go to church every week, they vote red. I’ve had strangers in my house before. I've _lived_ in stranger's houses. And for what it’s worth, it’s a big house. It’s not like we’re on top of each other. Edward showed me the Townhouse too... it’s huge. We don’t have to even see each other. I just don’t want to live in a crumbling tenement in Brooklyn.” Her smile isn’t as light this time, she adds a layer of sarcasm to match mine. “ _You_ _wouldn’t get it_."

“That blows. About your Dad. And Mom”, and I do mean it. I forgot Sue was an orphan and had lived with Marla for the last few years after being bounced from relative to relative. I have a pang of guilt, I’ve been so consumed by my own mind that I hadn’t taken a pause to realize that other people are also... real? Sometimes my brain is so loud, I can’t think over it. 

_Dome’d, hollow’d, the knock reflects and_

_doubles back._

"I think you're really pretty," I offer. Sue half-smiles and looks down to her feet with a nod. I don't know what pushed me to say it but I've been on a self-help kick. Saying exactly what you mean the moment you mean it. 

"I think you're really pretty too," she says. I have an urge to explain myself and my conflicting messaging.

“I'm not good with people. Not everyone, some people are great. Excellent. But I don't like them being in my space. I'm a writer, that's what I do. I write and I write and sometimes it's too intense for people. Sometimes that intensity spreads out and infects everyone around me. Disease.. everywhere."

She kicks my foot with hers in reassurance. This is strangely intimate. She looks up under those long, brown eyelashes and responds,

"I don't think you're too intense so far. You're definitely interesting. Maybe I'm not intense enough.. It's like-- I'm two different people but both of them aren't real. Like, I feel things but then I think, what good does it serve? So I un-feel them."

"I wish I could un-feel things. Everything is always high amplitude, I don't know. Sometimes I think I'm too raw for this world, like I was born with a sunburn. Everything is so much." I'm half rambling, it occurs to me that I've never said that out loud before. Sue doesn't respond, she just stares at me through those goddamn eyelashes. She wants me to continue so I do against better judgement;

"And I've never actually said that to anyone. Sometimes when I say things I've never said before, I get really scared." I'm wringing my hands. Blame it on the weed. She's still quiet and I think, she reminds me of an empty opera house. Beautiful, echoing from its lack. No, not empty... just with all the things pushed to the corners. "I get really scared because suddenly I don't own those thoughts anymore and you own them and I don't know you. Or what you'll do with them. So it makes sense to be scared and I don't _actually_ think you're an empty opera house."

For the first time in my life, she understands exactly what I'm trying to say without clarification. I feel a confusing surge of affection, the need to reach out and grab the silence she's created. Cradle it to my chest. This feels dangerous. 

"Anyway, I’d prefer if we try to stay out of each other’s business” I say and hope she reads the subtext. No group taco nights. No braiding each other’s hair. This is supposed to be my year of renaissance when I can finally compile enough for a collection. From there, I imagine I’d be published and _super_ famous within months. I can drop out, move to a cabin somewhere in the woods. Sometimes I think I want fame just so I can throw it away. 

“I can try.. but I tend to cross over into other’s business. We can be friendly though, I won’t bother you.”

“I appreciate the effort… but most people bother me.”

“I think you’ll survive, _Emily_ ” and she emphasizes my name before getting up and walking towards the house. I’m a little stunned with the speed of her retort, the warning it holds. 

I don’t like her. And she’s still so familiar. I need to figure this out. 

\----------

The next morning, we've all collectively dragged ourselves out of bed and into the kitchen. I'm resting my cheek against the cool granite when Father picks his glass of orange juice up and carefully contemplates his next words. Staring into the pulp as if it were tea leaves telling the future.

"Emily, I think you should consider another major. English and Creative Writing are great hobbies but they aren't very, er, sustainable, are they?" he says, completely unprompted.

I don't have the energy to raise my head. It makes my words come out all muffled, "I'm a writer, _Dad_ , I don't care about being sustained. Let me starve." The dramatic flick of my wrist. 

"Maybe you could take a page out of Sue's book. Sue, you're majoring in Mathematics, correct? Or Neurology. Science and hard facts. What do you think about English?" he seems set on his viewpoint. I'm interested in what Sue will say and raise my head just enough to see her. She looks nervous before responding--

"Mathematics and Queer Studies."

Oh. Wow. Okay. Perhaps we have more in common than I thought. It wasn't like I was ashamed or anything, I'd just never decided to come out. Besides, I'm attracted to minds and not genitalia. Although some genitalia is vastly more attractive than others. Sue takes a moment with her next words, choosing carefully. "And I think English is a wonderful language but yes, not exactly lucrative."

What's this? I see Sue's eyes hesitantly check my Father's for approval. He merely nods into his juice, clearly pleased with her answer. 

"You're both nerds and I'm not switching majors. Whatever." My eyes are shooting daggers at Sue who conveniently avoids mine. She's a good girl, she's exactly whatever anyone wants her to be. The effort of it must be exhausting. I don't feel overly compassionate about it. Any progress we made is gone, eviscerated. 

If you ask me, Sue can go fuck herself.

\--------------

I'm on the swing again and it's not surprising when the branches rustle and Sue emerges, brushing dirt from her tight shorts. For someone who plays the obedient daughter role so well, she does like to show a fair amount of skin. Even in the dark, I find myself staring at the freckle on the inside of her thigh.

"Oh hello, it's the Mathematician! Gracing us with her functional knowledge. Here to shit on my career again? Or maybe it's my hair. Do you _hate_ my hair?" and my voice feels venomous. Sue looks away before sitting next to me.

"I'm sorry about that. I didn't know what to say, I think English is cool, really."

"But not as cool as Math? Or Queer studies? Yeah, you're real cool with your pythagorean's theory. Lots of money in that, can totally buy a house made of... binomials or something."

Sue meets my eyes at that. Questioning, daring. 

"I didn't think _you'd_ have an issue with queer studies, _Emily_."

"And why wouldn't I have an issue? I'm not sure I'm following, _Susan_." 

"Because you're really, really queer." And the matter-of-fact way that she says it digs into me. 

"What? _**I'm**_ queer?" And I totally am. But she doesn't know that, she can't know that.

"Are we playing that game, then? Okay. You're completely straight. You stare at my ass in a very platonic way."

"I do _not_ stare at your ass. Actually, it says a lot that you'd think that. Little obsessed with yourself, then."

And Sue doesn't answer. She smirks before taking my joint out of my hand, dragging deeply, and staring out at the water. I let her take it and try to ignore the tingling in my hand where she'd touched it. There's something about Sue that makes me feel so seen, so vulnerable. 

"I study math because it makes money. That's what I do, I survive. I can't just.. do whatever I want like you can. I don't have a back-up. I can't _want_ things unless they'll keep me alive."

I have to break the silence. 

"Why do you look so familiar? Have we met before?"

"We met in the kitchen like 2 days ago so I'm going to say yes."

"No, I've met you before that. I just don't know where," Sue is bracing herself with two arms, getting ready to head back into the house. It strikes me that she might have come out only because she knew I'd be here. 

"Don't think too hard, Emily. I wouldn't want you to get any wrinkles on that pretty face." And then she's gone before I can control the blushing heat that creeps into my cheeks. Pretty face. Cool. She still didn't say anything about my hair though.

\----------

Father calls out, to no one in particular, "Why is the car so dirty? Did someone take it out today?"

Sue responds, from another room, "I think I saw Emily leave earlier."

Traitor.

\----------

"Emily, must you wear pajama pants everywhere? It's nearly 10am, you should get dressed. Sue, you're always so put together. Perhaps you could give Emily some tips?", Father speaks from under another book. 

I groan in response and throw the spoon into my cereal bowl, resulting in a loud clatter.

"I could help you do your hair, Emily. It's so beautiful when you wear it down," Sue offers. I can't help but stare at her, dumbstruck. The absolute _gall_ of this woman. 

"No thanks, I think I'm good. But _appreciate you_ , Sue." I throw an overly sweet smile in her direction.

\----------

My hands knock against her door and she answers too quickly. I push my way inside, past her, and sit in her computer chair. Posh, of course, her entire room. She's barely decorated but it's enough to portray a vision of a completely normal young woman. I'd spent the previous few hours furiously googling. Sue’s familiarity had gotten under my skin and I had to know. Was she a murderer? Or worse, a _Tik Tok Influencer_? But no. I did it. I found her. And it’s much, _much_ juicier. 

"Emily", she doesn't seem surprised to see me.

“Here’s the deal, I came across something _interesting_ … a website. Sex stuff. Have you ever heard of OnlyFans?” I’m trying hard to mimic concern but we both know what this is. For perhaps the first time, I see a hint of fear cross her face. If she wasn’t annoying as hell, I might think it was beautiful. She doesn’t feel like the same person, she’s dropping her mask. I continue before she has a moment to respond. “See, it’s a thing where girls show off and people pay them. So, a friend sends me this link… and I click. And what do you think I see?” I pause only for dramatic effect. “Other than _you_. So me, assuming best intentions, look around a bit more... and the things I’ve seen”, I exhale and shake my head, “Wow. Just wow."

And what I don't tell her is that I've known of OnlyFans for a long time. I wouldn't consider myself a consistent viewer but there's something about watching another person. Watching the mask fall, the bodies bend and obey to a force nearly holy in the way it possesses them. And I've seen her videos more than once. Carefully cropped to show just enough of her chin and mouth for me to have full assurance that Sue is the girl in the videos.

“Emily, what are you getting at?” While it was there once, there’s no fear on her face anymore. It’s stone-serious and staring back at me. 

“I think you know exactly what I’m getting at. So... you are going to start looking for an apartment as soon as possible. You won't be moving into the Townhouse in August. We’ll coexist for the next few weeks. You won’t say anything about me, none of that pretentious sarcasm better-than-thou bullshit. And in return? My silence. My father and Marla will never see these videos. They’ll never know what you do. She'll never know what her perfect god-daughter gets up to in the dark. Got it?”, I spin in the chair, trying to hold back the excitement of finally having one-up on Sue Gilbert.

Those brown eyes turn hard, almost feral. She smiles in a different way this time. It's so unlike anything I've ever seen before, the "good girl" facade fully abandoned. The blood rushing through me runs cold. She feels dangerous again. Cornered animals often do. 

“Blackmail isn’t a great way to start a relationship, don’t you think?” She’s playing along. 

“I wouldn’t call it blackmail. Think of it as encouragement backed by… evidence?”

“Evidence. Funny word choice. Are you finished?” and it’s the tone of a scolding teacher. I’m a bit surprised she didn’t even deny it. Based on her large fan base and pure volume of videos… she must know she’s caught. But she isn’t falling to her knees and begging me for my silence. Bending to my will as I'd thought she would.

She continues, “Good. Here’s another deal for you. I won’t stand here and say it isn’t me. I’m not ashamed. However, I do know the security surrounding my site... I know someone needs to be a member to access. As the admin to the site, I can find out exactly what’s been viewed and how many times. Someone exposing a pervert would only need to view one video, _right_?” Condescending teacher voice again. An undertone of equal venom.

My jaw hits the floor. This heat inside of me… Am I turned on? Jesus, that’s twisted. And then the sudden fear turning that heat to cold. This isn’t how this was supposed to go. Am I trackable? She's bluffing, surely. Right? Oh god. She stands from the bed now and walks towards me before speaking directly to my core.

“Here's your scenario, you tell Marla and Edward. You show them the videos, wouldn’t that be _fun_ to sit through? Then, you have to answer how you found them. You’re smart, you might come up with some reason. I hope the credit card you used isn’t connected to you at all... because then I show them what you watched. I tell them how you tried to blackmail me. Do you need me to keep going or?”

I'm suddenly aware of the pressure in my legs, she advances towards further me and continues, like a predator.

“I then proceed to show them my current thesis, 'The Psychology of Sex Work and Male Domination in a Queer Lens', 36 pages long and counting. I admit to them that.. I’m _alternative_ with my sexuality. They already know I’m queer." A smile crosses her face while she imagines it. "I can see your Dad bumbling over the words. His brain might explode. Marla would be uncomfortable, sure, she might not look at me the same but she’d understand. She _might_ even be proud. Feminist. Sex positive.”

“You... wouldn’t”, My mouth is dry. My body, humming with electricity. I can feel the pink in my cheeks. 

“But I would. Here is the new deal: I am moving into the Townhouse whenever I choose. You can move in, I don’t care. Even bring a friend. Basement office is mine to do with what I please, it’ll be locked at all times. I’ll say what the fuck I want about you when you’re being an asshole. I don’t need you to love me. I don’t think I can accurately explain just how much I don’t give a _fuck_ what you think. I do, however, care about Marla. I told you that I survive, Emily. In exchange, we both keep our mouths shut.”

I’m speechless at how quickly she managed to completely turn the situation in her favor. I've never seen this side of her before. It's not like I know her well but.. how could someone have this hidden inside of them? Maybe Sue truly isn't an empty opera house. A hallway of mirrors perhaps, reflecting what everyone wants to see. A crystal clear pond that runs _too_ dark and _too_ deep.

“Between us, there’s only one way you found those videos. Oh, last thing. You really shouldn't come for me again. You saw the videos. _I break girls like you for fun_.”

And with that, she leaves me in her bedroom, dumbstruck. Who is this? Who am I about to live with? Why does my entire body feel as though it's in flames? The doors closes and she’s gone again. Sue is very good at dramatic exits too.

Who the hell am I about to live with?


	2. The Specter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And while I can’t see her, I can feel her eyes burning into me. She's not moving. She's watching. Maybe she doesn't know what she's seeing? No, Sue's not a good girl. Sue knows. And at that moment, I can’t contain a small gasp. The ghost shifts slightly when I make the noise, there’s no pretense anymore, we both know exactly what this is. We both know exactly why it's happening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thnx 4 holding out for the smut. 
> 
> you're all brave, we're just getting started. positive affirmations always welcome

There are tiny moments throughout the next few days. Sue, just showing her power, comments when no one sees. It's as if a new side of her has been exposed and she can't go back. Sure, in front of my Father and Marla she's proper, delicate, cheerful. But to me? She's a smouldering ember. A posed cobra, lunging at my ankles just to watch me jump.

The time in the hallway when she stumbled and I smiled before whispering, “ _Really_ smooth. What would the viewers think?” She had rounded on me instantly, standing a bit too close with that (now) familiar wildness in her eyes. 

“I don’t know, Viewer, what _would_ you think?” Before smugly turning away.

Or, when she was laying out on the patio, sunbathing. I had been at my window contemplating the purpose of the universe and if someone, with a large enough hand, could pick it up like a soft peach and take a bite. Would the nectar slide down their chin? Something about her shape had caught my eyes and I couldn't break them away. When you find that one spot in your vision that just feels _comfortable_ and when you have to look away, profoundly _uncomfortable_. She's lithe, powerful. The mole on the backside of her arm. That thigh freckle. 

When she caught me looking, she had locked eyes and made a show of biting her bottom lip. I was transfixed for a moment before looking away, scuttling from the window. That was the first time I touched myself to Sue. I couldn't help it, that one look from her struck something deep in my core. All my words and my writing had been instantly bullied by a growing need, I would never be able to compose another poem until it was released. I felt possessed. And after, I just laid in bed trying to figure it out. I wrote poem after poem before tearing them up.

It was clear that Sue was enjoying this game as much as I didn't want to admit I was too. It felt like a confirmation of sorts, that she knew. She saw me. That I didn't make this tension up in my head. In the least, this game could sustain me until I could get out of this house. But, then again, I'd be going into a house with Sue.

Like exiting the tiger's cave directly into the tiger's den. Running out of a burning building into a volcano. 

\----------

Townhouse D-day is only two weeks away. The games have continued. When Sue dropped the bomb about her videos and the ability to track a user down, I had scurried to my room to delete my account. I cleared my cookies, I emptied my history. I considered getting a new credit card but doubt she'd go to such lengths. Should I throw my laptop in the ocean? In the moment of my shock, I hadn't denied it to her face. We both knew. 

Each day that she walked through the house, each time she offered to refill my Dad's coffee-- It was all a slight, her saying she's the _better_ houseguest. Sue cleans. Sue's pleasant. Most of me still hated her and the other part just wanted revenge for all the confusing things she'd been doing inside my brain. In the nights, her hands slid into mine like gloves and threw themselves over the keyboard. Fragments and stanzas, half sentences, single words typed over and over: _apple_ , _hornet_ , _need_ , _precipitate_. 

Sue is a good girl and I'm not and none of this is fair. The confusion and the ache are fogged to the inside of my brain like condensation and I can't get anything out. Every thing on the page feels like an echo of this burning. If I could only tap into it for true, it would be the strongest thing to ever come out of me.

The solution is clear, I need to lure her out. The dynamic between us has, so far, been rather one sided. Or perhaps more like one sided with the other side just bashing her head against the wall. I know, with two weeks away, I need to do something drastic. Something to release the fucking _magna carta_ that's building inside of me.

I pull the shorts onto my body and they ride a little higher than I normally would choose. Before I head to the kitchen, I take a moment and collect myself in the mirror. You're doing what has to be done. Sue has made you doubt yourself and, if we're to become the greatest poet of all time, then we can't have any doubts. She needs to be dealt with. It strikes me that this is the definition of " _premeditated_ ". Like I literally meditated before getting dressed. I planned every moment. I just need to bring her true nature into the light, I've never fully _trusted_ my emotions but I've owned them.. and I can't own them when she's owning this. 

I enter the kitchen. Sue is perched on a stool with one leg crossing the other, finger lazily flipping pages of the magazine. She doesn't glance up when I enter so I cross to the cabinet to reach for a glass, directly in her line of sight.

"Ugh" I groan, reaching. No response. " ** _Ugh_** ", slightly more emphasis this time and louder. Sue looks up for a second and then once more when she fully sees me. I can feel her gaze inching up from my calves, gliding up my thighs, and settling somewhere near my lower back. 

"I did a yoga class this morning" No, I didn't. "I can barely lift my arms." Yes I can.

I'm searching for any sort of recognition in her face. She just looks, eyes shining and curious. A cat before she realizes that the speck of brown is a mouse. With exaggerated effort, I reach up and grab a glass from the top shelf before running it under the tap. She's analyzing me now, completely unreadable. 

I think this is what it feels like when someone reads your poetry. It's exposing and vulnerable and sweet. I think this is what it feels like when a surgeon opens you up on the table and riffles around for the bad parts. 

"I swear, every single muscle is so... _tight_." God, I'm laying it on thick. 

I’m turned away so I don’t see her move but hear the scrape of stool against tile. I can feel her from feet away. The heat of her body, her simmering anger and frustration and annoyance and craving.

Her arm ghosts around me, reaching past. I've never been this close to Sue physically. Even at the swing or in the hall when she'd cornered me, it was never _this_ close. My eyes fight the urge to instinctively shut. This seems to be a moment of choice, the trap is suddenly very real and I'm not sure that I'm the one holding the string anymore. 

Sue places her own empty glass directly next to me on the counter. The power dynamic is a pendulum taking it's turn swinging between the both of us, I feel it start it's journey downward, pulling away from my grasping hands. I'm steeling myself. She's going to try to kiss me or hit me or something but at least I'll know-- I didn't make this up. 

And at that moment, 2 things happen simultaneously-- 

1.) Her body has been giving off static and my own body, absorbing it. The hair on the back of my neck rises. My skin, like a wheat field rippling with the wind, begins to transform into goosebumps. And, worst yet, with how close she is-- she _sees_ it happen. A surgeon, looking for the bad parts. A surgeon, reaching for those bad parts.

2.) Sue leans close to the shell of my ear and whispers;

_**"You can't win this game."** _

Maybe I’d been fooling myself about my intentions before hand. When I was young, I'd found a lighter and held it to my palm. When my Mom had seen the mark, she'd frantically bandaged me, ' _what happened, Emily? Oh, god. This is bad_ ', and I'd responded, ' _I just wanted to see what the yellow part felt like_.' I hadn't wanted the pain, I had wanted to know and decided it worth the pain it entailed. 

None of what’s happening is about revenge— it’s desire to touch the flame. To feel the yellow part. 

And with that recognition, she exits to the patio and I'm left shaking, grabbing the edge of the counter with white knuckles, just trying to stay afloat. 

\----------

I can't write fast enough after the kitchen incident. It’s as if my arms are possessed, scribbling page after page, trying desperately to get this need out of me. I'm attracted to Sue, sure. This is a physiological urge and response to a stimulus. It's normal. It's fine. It's not like I'd ever act on it. I make a mental note to take another shower before bed but by the time I look up from my notes, it’s nearly midnight. Everyone is asleep, surely, and the ache still burns as strong. 

I dim the lights. I need to find a way to relax and get it out of me. I'd try to go get high by the water again but that spot isn't safe anymore now. The last person I need to see right now is Sue, I don't know if I could handle it. So, option 2. I grab the cheap plastic vibrator in the night stand, purple and long, a relic from teenage years. It (thankfully) buzzes to life, I think briefly on the last time I changed the batteries and say a small prayer. 

I’m close the second it touches my clit. Yet, acutely aware of how **loud** this buzzing tube truly is. I throw the comforter back over my lap to mute the noise before freezing when I hear a creak in the hallway outside. I fumble to silence it before giving up and wrapping it in the sheets. I train my ears for any sound out of the ordinary but mostly so I can get back to this. And then get on with my life. Another creak-- It's definitely footsteps but they're light and tepid. 

The master bedroom is on the first story and opposite end of the house. It could only be Sue. 

As if I wasn’t already thinking about her the entire time. Something in me rebels. Sue ruining _another thing_. Another moment she's taken from me. And worst yet-- she's not moving. I'm sitting, breathing silent, just waiting for her to close her door so I can clean up the mess she's made. The mess she knows she made. She gets to sleep soundly and I'm up all night writhing with the confusion and doubt and god, _the hunger_. The unfairness of it all overwhelms me. 

I don't know where the confidence comes from but I make a decision before standing and opening the door a crack. She wants to hear? Let her hear. When my head hits the pillow again, I realize the gravity of my actions. The vibrator is still buzzing through the blankets next to my thigh. I take several courageous breaths and redirect the buzzing between my legs. 

I wouldn’t have heard the noise if I wasn’t listening for it. Each creak of the board feels like a fingertip across my ribs. All I can see is the sliver of light from the cracked door. Everything else is pitch black, I'm watching that sliver and thinking about Sue and it doesn't surprise me when the light starts to cast and change. Like an eclipse, disappearing before coming back. A figure stands in it, staring directly inside. I can’t make out features, everything is backlit, she's a phantom. A dark human shaped shadow. A specter.

And while I can’t see her, I can feel her eyes burning into me. She's not moving. She's watching. Maybe she doesn't know what's she's seeing? No, Sue's not a good girl. Sue knows. And at that moment, I can’t contain a small gasp. The ghost shifts slightly when I make the noise, there’s no pretense anymore, we both know exactly what this is. We both know exactly _why_ it's happening. My ghost has possessed my hands. 

The sheet was my last defense and I willingly throw it off my torso. I’ve never felt more exposed, more desirable, I offer myself splayed to the Gods. The vibrations pulse and lull, I slide the tip of the toy over my source of need but never let it linger. Never pressing too hard, not wanting this to end. She's the puppet master pulling the string. The possession rages on, I feel myself start to peak.

And at that exact moment, her voice. A whisper, a command. 

“Inside.”

And, for whatever reason, I obey. I'm frenzied, sliding the toy lower and into my aching center. The force of it making my entire body contract. The moan is silent this time. I stop, unsure of the next step. She senses my hesitation.

“In and out.”

I obey. 

“Faster." I can feel my body start to accommodate the invader. It's been so long since I've been touched like this, filled like this. But, that's the thing... _Sue isn't even touching me_.

I obey again, panting now. The crest is coming too quickly, I feel my body being dragged up into the wave. This is too strong to fight against. Something in me, more natural than any feigned indifference, speaks to her directly now.

“Now?” And I know she knows what I mean. 

“Now.”

And I cum. And cum. And by the time my eyes open once again, the sliver of light in the doorway has replaced my specter. I feel the profound lack.

_“A wild beast, responding to the call;_

_twisting itself to your beckon”_

Sleep won't be happening tonight. I need to write.

\----------

We create rules, consensually unspoken between us:

1.) She can watch, but never touch.

The next morning contains even more feverish writing than the previous. Writing and touching and orgasms and shame, all blending into each other. I can’t bare to leave my solace in fear of seeing her. The smirk, the self assured wink, and _oh god_ — the worst, god forbid if she wants to _talk_ about it.

By 4PM, I have to brave the journey. The hunger and dehydration have become too much. As I walk in, greeted by the stark white, I can see Sue on the couch. Of course, of course she’s there. Doesn’t she ever fucking go away? Sue raises her eyes to me and I instantly lower mine. I can feel the redness creep into my cheeks, damn you. What is this body good for? Constant betrayal, that’s what.

“Hey, what’s up?” And her eyes are back onto her book. 

“Nothing.”

Okay, so this is how we’re playing it. I’m fine with this. It's not until I'm out of her sight that I realize I've been holding my breath the entire time. 

\----------

For the following week, we repeat our dance. Indifferent casual greetings during the day. But by night I let myself transform. Cracking the door open. Letting the sliver of light fall onto my face, contorted. I’m light, she’s shadow. She's audience, I'm her theater. 

I’ve been a machine of desire. The intrusive thoughts of that dark shape coming to me each night, making it hard to function (or breathe). Instead, I decide to breathe through my hands, writing until my fingers cramp and seize, unwilling to move even an inch more. The poems lose their last bit of coherence during this time and become remnants of letters. I see nothing but my Specter when I close my eyes, I start addressing it in prose-- _Master_. The pronouns are male on paper but in my mind, they're a half-smile and delicate wrist. 

The nights, she comes to me. Sometimes the completely silent watcher. Sometimes one word commands, “ _inside_ ”, “ _harder_ ”, “ _deeper_ ”, and the newest, “ _again._ "

' _Again_ ' has been the hardest to deal with. I get so sensitive after but with ' _again_ ', Sue's voice is always different. It's almost begging, as if she needs to see more. I'm more than acutely aware that I've never touched her nor has she touched me and I'm more than acutely aware of how sick this entire thing is. 

And yet, I open the door. Again and again.

\----------

When I check my phone, there are 11 text messages, all from Lavinia. 

**Vinnie,** _**11:48a** : _

**"Landing at 3p"**

**"I can't wait"**

**"Can we drink that tequila dad hid in his office?"**

**"James is coming"**

**"Omg remember when him and i made out at camp"**

**"He was okay but not great"**

**"Ahhhh I'm so exCITED"**

**"Can we get our party on?"**

**"I have to tell you about Dave and what he did the other night"**

**"James is a better kisser tho"**

**"LANDED. COMING FOR YOU BEAUTIFUL BITCH"**

It's her birthday weekend. Or celebration for Dean's list? Or some sort of celebration I don't remember but she's back home and throwing a giant party. Marla and my Father are headed upstate for the entire weekend to give us 'privacy', but I think they just don't want to be around drunk freshmen. 

Lavinia nearly knocks me over when she first sees me. I hug back, just as tight. She pulls back from it and looks directly into my face.

"Oh my god, Sue is _so_ pretty?! You didn't tell me how pretty she was."

"Yeah, she's okay." And what I want to tell her is that _Sue is not pretty_. She's fucking gorgeous and evil and my Specter, slowly driving me insane. Lavinia talks fast. I forgot how fast she talks. 

"Okay so everyone is arriving like _super_ soon so I want to shower and then set up the cheese plates. Wait, what are you wearing?"

"A shirt?" Lavinia seems offended by my response. 

"God no. Okay, so I'm going to pick something out and you just have to wear it. We're gonna get you some action tonight", she tries to fist-pump as she dance-exits my room, smiling the whole way.

Maybe I do need some action. Some action sounds good, just as long as it's not with James. 

\----------

I've definitely had too much to drink. It's those moments in the bathroom, when you go to wash your hands and just stare at your reflection that you realize just how much you've had to drink. It's not like I'm alone in the struggle, Lavinia throws a hell of a party and everyone is equally as inebriated. Sue has been in her element flitting from group to group, making good impressions.

As I'm leaving, I mess with the thin straps of the dress Lavinia forced me to wear. I've never seen more people in this house. The red solo cups seem to fill every available surface. The party has started to die down as passed-out bodies start to litter every surface as well. It's about time for several glasses of water and my bed. I'm quickly transitioning from 'drunk' to 'headache' and the night feels as though it's coming to a close.

Lavinia catches me at the bottom of the stairs. 

"Emily, no! You can't go. We're all sleeping in the living room tonight. You simply _must_ , for me?"

And I don't really have a choice as she's already pulling my hand into the living room. 

"Em, I've got a spot right here", Sue hasn't spoken to me all night so I'm a little surprised (and horrified) at her invitation to join her on the floor. However, there's too many ears around for me to object without raising suspicions. Also since when am I ' _Em_ ' to her? It all feels forced but I have no option but to go to her.

I lay onto the floor next to her and truly start to relax. Someone hits the lights and we're plunged into darkness. Sue is so close that I can feel her breath, sweet with whiskey. She turns on her side to face me.

"Did you have fun tonight?" Her question is innocent enough. 

"Yeah, I actually did. I don't go to many parties but this was nice", in this position, Lavinia's dress rides up a little too high on my thighs. Sue is in ripped shorts and a sheer tank. 

"You looked like you were having fun. Who was that guy you were talking to?"

"Oh, that's George. We actually used to date awhile ago", I can't see her eyes but I can feel them blazing.

"You looked close. I saw you two go into the other room. Did you kiss him?" She's whispering but I'm painfully aware of how close we are to other people. Further from others, sure, but not far enough. 

"Ha, no.. I mean. Yeah, I like kissing. But George is.. no. No."

"Whose the last person you kissed?", she asks me. I'm still on my back and Sue is still turned towards me. I train my eyes on the ceiling. An interrogation with the undertones of something darker, something much deeper.

"A guy in Mexico. I think."

"Boys are bad at kissing", she reaches out to push a piece of my hair out of my eyes before continuing. "Whose the last person you fucked?"

"Damn, Sue. There are people here."

"Everyone is asleep and I didn't peg you for a prude."

"Probably that guy. What's with all the questions? Whose the last person _you_ fucked?"

"Jessica. She had the nicest eyes", she responds quicker than I expected before pushing another piece of hair from my neck this time. I see spots when her fingertips connect with my skin. Oh. This is what Sue feels like. She's warm for a ghost. 

I gulp, noticeably, but move my body a little closer to her. She brings her hand further down and rests it on my hip. It's not natural but goddamn if it isn't smooth. Sue moves like water but her touch _burns, boils_. I try to remain calm but it feels futile when all I can concentrate on is the weight of her hand. 

"Did you like it? With that guy in Mexico. How did it feel?" Her hand isn't still, a single finger reaches out and starts to draw circles at the spot next to my hip bone. My body betrays me and responds to her. I imagine my skin yearning, singing for her. The amount of power a single hand has over me is repulsive. 

"N-no", my voice cracks. I can feel my nipples, hard and straining against the fabric of this dress. "He was clumsy and couldn't find my clit." I can feel Sue in the darkness, seemingly satisfied with the answer. 

"That's disappointing, although sometimes waiting feels good too. The building as you're close. The fireworks when they _finally_ touch and don't stop." The way she speaks to me to feels pornographic. Is this happening? Am I having a fever dream?

That fingertip is still drawing circles but with more pressure this time. I swear I feel her reposition her palm lower.

"And when they touch and don't stop. And then tell you ' _again_ '" I respond, terrified to move even an inch lest Sue removes her hand. At this point, I need her to actually touch me. The need is all I can feel. Starving, drowning. I'm desperate for it.

"Do you like that? When someone says ' _again_ '?" Oh. Right on the mark. We're keeping up the pretense but Sue has never looked at me closer before, searching. The fingertip tracing my skin stops. 

"Yeah. I do. It feels... like too much. But it's good."

Here's the actual truth of it. We're speaking in non-commital hypotheticals but no one has ever made me cum before. And certainly not just with their words. 

"I think you could take it, even if it felt like too much." Her eyes are closed now as she repositions herself onto her back. Hand still reaching but awkwardly now. A slow smile comes across her face.

"Do you think I can, Sue?" I venture. That yellow part of the flame.

"I think you'd pretend you couldn't. Maybe move your hips a little farther away but you'd come back. I think you'd probably beg for it."

I can play this game despite the fact that my body is melting into the floor. 

"Do you like when people, er, _girls_ , beg for it?"

"Oh. I like that very much. Especially when they aren't the type of girl to beg."

Her palm disappears from my hip and navigates to her own, I whimper at the loss. I can't quite make it out in the darkness but there's moment on her side. 

"Sounds like you know what you want", I can't let this conversation go, especially now that I know the effect it's having on Sue. 

"Keep going." And she's raspy now. Tones hushed but brave in the way they happen, despite the terror of being seen. When someone else rustles, I begin to internally panic. Sue is unphased, still moving her hand. I imagine what she must feel like, wet and hot and silk. God, I want to envelope her in my mouth. Taste her down my chin like the universe peach. Show her that she isn't the one in control. Take back my life and get this over with.

The risk feels worth it, as risk often does when overwhelmed by want. "I think you like multiple orgasms, Sue Gilbert." As foreign as the words feel in my mouth, like gravel, Sue's response is all the encouragement I need. She groans in response and I move to my side to take the sight in.

Sue's mouth, slightly ajar. How her body shifts with each deep breathe. Nostrils moving like a heartbeat, desperate for more air. Her hips starting to rise and fall for more pressure. I can almost see her hand between her legs and the thought of it alone makes my own hands twitch. Sue doesn't beg... but her body does.

I continue, "I've never had multiple orgasms before."

"Haven't you?", she fires back, hand moving quicker. Mask falling.

"You tell me, Sue. Have I?"

And when Sue, thinking about me, cums, I hear my own blood. Pounding, I become aware of my brain inside my skull. All the tension within her seems to rush out and she exhales before saying,

"I'm glad we got to bond. You should try to get some sleep."

And then Sue is asleep and I am laying there, unable to calm my buzzing mind. 


	3. Simmering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the tension continues. Also (sort of) sex, sex, sex

Rewrite to those rules, 1.) We can both watch, but never touch. 

Sue didn’t warn me when she moved to the Townhouse, not that she was obligated to. Not that I would have in her position. Still, it makes me mad. What of my ghost? What of my nightly prayer, enacted under her eyes, at her command. What of my words in her ear and her hand between her legs?

I could write a poem about her as a God but that would be weird. I am oddly empty. Her things were just… gone. I felt it so sharply that, when I was about to open my door that night, I stopped myself. Forced myself to lay in bed and ruminate about how this was my last taste of freedom before I serve myself up to her, on a doorstep in New York. Last days of freedom before I cannot escape her. 

Because of the inevitability of it all, I decide to move a few days early as well. It's better than sitting stagnant in my room waiting for it. My key scrapes against the Townhouse door, balancing a cardboard box on my hip. I haven't been here in years but I still remember accompanying my Dad on his inspections. The tapestries and smells of other people's lives. The scuffs on the walls. The sight of a cat's tail disappearing under the couch and the tenant winking at me, one finger to his lips to encourage me to keep quiet and preserve their security deposit. 

When my Dad would leave to sign paperwork in the basement office, the tenant would let me pet his cat. I'm so overwhelmed with the memory that I can't break out of it until Sue is standing in front of me. I sometimes forget, with everything else going on, how beautiful she is. I need to get myself under control.

"Emily", she sounds both happy and cautious. Surprised but not shocked. 

"I'm here", I force a smile before she takes a bag from my hands and helps me inside. She's started decorating already, there's a large yellow sectional and a bistro table set up. Not the pink and white posh I'd expected, her real taste is more modern with jewel tones and straight lines. I notice that the door to the smallest bedroom is open and I catch a splash of pink comforter from it. She took the smallest room, that's nice. 

"So I'll be right here then", as I gesture to the bedroom next to hers. The only other bedroom is on the top floor and half attic. As much as I love the recluse life, I don't want to wake up sharing my bed with spiders. I'm _terrified_ of spiders. 

As I continue to unpack, Sue brings me a drink from the kitchen unprompted and leans in my doorway, watching me work. If it wasn't so bright here, I'd have been reminded of our nightly shows but this is a different Sue now. Perhaps she has three sides to her. The good girl. The Specter. The comfortable one. In the Hamptons, she even breathed differently, each contract of her chest measured and purposeful. Her eyes would dart around constantly. A little deer, all fear and survival. The Specter was another beast entirely.

But, in the Townhouse at 8p on a Thursday, Sue is standing in my door way and looks _overwhelmingly_ _human_. We chat about the framed poster she put on the wall. I tell her that it's her home as well (and the words don't taste as bitter in my mouth.) 

I decide, if we can both agree to be humans, we can get through this. 

\----------

There's something about the way she dries her hair after a shower that's captivating. While I wrap mine and pile the towel onto my head, she scrunches it up, ringing the water out. We have different bathrooms but I fall prey to my curiosity and snoop through hers. Lavender and Oatmeal body wash. That explains the smell. She's got countless glass bottles and serums, all lined perfectly. 

Sue doesn't like wearing bras around the house. With a body like hers, she can easily get away with it. Typically I don't either but, living with someone, I had the courtesy to at least throw a baggy shirt on. Sue has no such shame, she _opts_ for tank tops. Most of them are white. I make it a mission not to look. 

My Specter doesn't wake up in the middle of the night and I don't leave my door open. 

\----------

"Sue?", My voice rings out in the apartment and it's weaker than I wanted it to be. She's on the couch but responds to my call instantly, almost too quickly.

"Emily, what is it? Are you okay?" Creases form on her brow in worry as I round the corner into the living room.

"Yeah.. it's just too quiet outside. It's freaking me out. This is New York, it's not supposed to be this quiet. I was in my room and it got really quiet and I don't know. Can I hang out in here?" 

"Of course, come on", she pats the seat next to her and I sit, still a little shaken. I don't know where the feeling had come from but it was sudden and terrifying. It made my fingers too cold to continue writing. It made my brain too cold to continue thinking. I'd been scribbling something when the world started to peel at it's seams. 

_I held the silence to my chest,_

_surprised when it sunk inside._

_I hadn't known that I'd tempted Death,_

_Or Death would be the one to decide._

"I was just about to FaceTime Lavinia", Sue raises her phone and centers it to her face before the familiar dialing tones come on. I wasn't aware they were close but the idea of seeing Lavinia, wrapped in her State sweatshirt with all her roommates, does sound rather comforting. It connects on the 4th ring. Instant chatter, laughing, shouting. Lavinia is on, what I assume, a dorm room bed. She smiles as soon as she sees Sue.

"Thankfully _someone_ in this family talks to me", and the words sting for more than one reason. Maybe I didn't call as much as she wanted but I texted her plenty. We just saw each other, I changed her diapers once. Well, no I didn't. But I'm pretty sure I watched. I'm the one that skipped 3rd period and drove her to Planned Parenthood after that scare. The other sting-- Sue is part of the family. That one turns my stomach a bit. 

"Emily is here with me," She turns the phone onto my face. 

"Okay, fierce New York Queens," She claps with every syllable. "Wait, you need to see this", Lavinia flips the camera to show two shirtless men doing pushups in her shared kitchen. She flips it back onto her face, "They're competing, Meg said that Marcus couldn't do more than 40 and then they all got on the floor and just.. wow. Emily, you probably don't care but Sue and I can appreciate a healthy sense of competition." 

First, a bit rude. Lavinia knew about the only other woman in my past and doesn't fail to bring it up frequently. Never judging, almost proud of me. Apparently, Vinnie is under the impression that Sue is as heterosexual as she is. I glance at Sue to try to measure the effect of those words but see nothing. She doesn't deny it.

"Oh my **_GOD_** , Marcus. You cannot switch to one handed, that's not fair", there's joy in Lavinia's eyes. "Actually, girls. Wait, I've got to go. I'll call you later. Love you both." And with that, the call is done. I didn't notice that I'd been inching closer to Sue on the couch so that we could both be in the frame but as soon as she puts her phone down, it becomes glaringly obvious how large the couch is. And how close we currently are.

I have to fill the silence, "Lavinia definitely thinks I'm gay."

"Well... are you?"

"I don't know. There was a girl once and I thought so at the time. But, guys can be nice." I swallow hard. "Are you?"

"Probably."

"Same", and I could have ended the conversation at that, but make a conscious choice not to. "Women are just... a different kind of beautiful. Men are strong and useful but women are _poetry_." My emphasis on the last line isn't lost on Sue.

"They are poetry... and although I've never read yours, I'm sure it's beautiful", God damn her. She wears so many different faces at the same time.

"I don't think you want to read mine. It's intense. And kind of queer. It's not light or fun." 

"What's wrong with intense?" Sue meets my eye line directly and there's something honest in her face. Sue isn't scared of intense.

"Do you want to read some?" My earlier anxiety is pushed from mind and instead I'm left with something else. An intense desire for someone to see me right now. Her smile is as instant as her response:

"I'd **love** to read some intense, queer poetry right now"

\--------

I don't know how late we stay up reading each other's poetry. At some point, Sue goes to her room and retrieves a small notebook with a cross-stitched flower on it and reads me some of her own. It's more traditional than mine. She leans into rhyme and revisits nature metaphors too much for my liking, but it's good. And it's Sue. 

However, she absolutely **_devours_** my poems. It's as if she can't get enough. At first, she asks me to read them aloud but when my voice starts to crack, she takes the papers from my hands and dives in.

That's how I find myself listening to Sue perform my own poetry for me. I clearly brought my cleanest work first. The poems I'd workshopped and painstakingly whittled into perfection. She likes those but the deeper we get, the rawer the work, the more fire I see in her eyes.

I finish reciting a sonnet about a New England beach that Sue had hastily penned in the margins as she reaches into my stack of papers and pulls something out;

_I feel a Phantom in my mind--_

_in sprinkled mounds, she plucks the ant of me_

_in wheat field, gold and fruited_

_she eats my heart like an apple._

" _God_ , Emily. This one right here... it's so alive. I can taste the words", Sue closes her eyes, presses the paper against her chest and leans back, relishing in it. " _Eats my heart like an apple,_ " she recites again, letting the words swirl around in her mouth. 

"You don't think it's gross?" I offer with a dash of self consciousness.

"Gross? It's _lust_. Seeing someone's soul in front of you and bringing your teeth to the skin. The sap of them, sticking to your fingers. Taking the lust onto your tongue. It's not cruel. It's communion, it's a ... prayer."

No one has ever fully echoed or understood my poetry to this extent. It's as if Sue is crawling around in my brain. I'm vulnerable, I'm exposed. There's a flash of deep desire, the need to be seen in the way that only she can. I can't help myself but to grasp her hands in mine,

"That's exactly it. _Oh, Sue_. No one has ever understood it before. Here, read this part. It continues", I hand her another scrap. A bit hesitantly, as if the paper were a baby bird that might escape or perish if I held it too tightly or too loosely. 

_"If I ever were to lose a limb--_

_I trust the hands to remember me,_

_Sculpt by Master with zipped eyes_

_from memory,_

_Oh! to be cherished_

_To be reared."_

And at that, Sue's eyes grow wide and trembling. I can see the hint of tears at the corners. This might be the highest praise a poet could receive-- to make someone **feel**. 

"Emily, It's perfect."

And both of us know it's about her. And neither of us say it out loud.

\----------

"Sue? Is it weird if I say that I want someone to drag me from a lake by my wrists?" At this point, I don't ask her permission before throwing my poems at her. In my defense, she eagerly takes all of them. Once, laying on my bedroom floor, she asked me to just speak whatever came to my mind. In response, she seemed almost drunk from it. She had rolled around and covered her face. _'I can't wait until you're published. Until everyone sees these.' 'Some of them, sure. But these ones are just for us._ ' And I replaced 'me' with 'us' so naturally that neither of us noticed. 

"That's not weird, it's hot." 

"I mean, good to know, but I don't know if I'm aiming for 'hot'. Something more serious, something more painful."

"Why does 'hot' have to be painful?"

"I like a little pain mixed in with my 'hot.'" 

And she raises her head from my bedroom floor at that, looks right through me.

"Now _that_ was hot." She replies and I can't help but smile in return. 

"I didn't think you'd judge me for that."

"Absolutely not judging. Now, tell me more about this lake." 

\----------

The clatter jars me from my trance and I look down at my notebook. Ink smeared down the curve of my hand, maybe I'd been sleeping? My phone reflects the time back to me— 1am. Not too late. I haven’t been sleeping lately any way.

Another clatter of glasses clinking together. It feels like my responsibility to investigate the source. Could be a burglar helping themselves to the Ikea glasses. In all fairness, Ikea is like an hour by public transit so they may be the most valuable thing here. Sue is running the faucet into an overfilling glass but lights up when she sees me.

“Emily! You’re home!”

Where else would I be? I don’t... go places. 

“Uh, Sue. Are you okay? That glass looks like it’s struggling.”

She’s obviously drunk. I know she had been with friends after class but I didn't anticipate this level. She sways and I can feel her try to focus on me.

“I am just great.. I got broken up with tonight, did you know? Too alternative! She was a bike messenger from Brooklyn that does Ketamine every night and I’m too alternative for her.” I often forget how tiny Sue really is, how delicate she can be. This is the first I've heard of a girlfriend before tonight. A small tinge of jealousy settles into my hands and I grasp them together, hoping to wring it out. There’s a pang of sympathy as well. I remember my first breakup with George even though I’d been the instigator. He wanted commitment, I just wanted to get my Dad off of my back. He cried when it happened. I’m not world renowned for my ability to comfort.

“Er, I’m… sorry. That sucks.”

She looks innocent in the moment. Not a shred of the swagger she typically imbibes and something tells me to keep going. I can do 'comfort', right? I continue,

“She sucks too… did you tell her about the channel?" My curiosity is not _completely_ rooted in the pursuit of comfort. We haven't verbally acknowledged Sue's work since we were back in the Hamptons. I've been curious, of course, but there was a sense of trust that we'd built. Trust that we could 'do' friends. Trust that I wouldn't turn on her and she wouldn't turn on me. 

"Yeah, I showed her. I thought she'd get it but she didn't at all. She said it was unfair that I hadn't told her right away and I didn't respect her boundaries. I tried to explain but she said I was gaslighting her."

"But like, you could have anyone, Sue. You don’t need her.” And she lights up a little, half laughs.

“Not anyone… there’s someone that I can’t have” She’s giggling through it, voice dancing at the last notes as if they were a song. As if revealing a secret. Wind-chimes. 

“I don’t understand” But, don’t I?

“I can’t touch you. Those nights", she starts before hiccuping. It's almost theatrical. Who _actually_ hiccups when they're that drunk? "When you’d touch yourself for me... I wanted to do that but I couldn't.” And there’s something feral in those brown eyes despite how unfocused they were. 

“We..” I try to start but she continues first, in the same sing-song voice;

“But I can’t because _that_ would cross a line. And I wasn’t supposed to say that right now! Because we don’t talk about that. Because you’re an emotional cripple”, she ends with a full laugh now. 

Well, I certainly can’t let that go unaddressed. An emotional cripple? God, I feel more things in seconds than Sue has ever felt in her entire life. She thinks I’m cold? I’m heat. I’m a volcano. I’m magma that burns so hot you _think_ you’re frozen. 

“I am _**not**_ an emotional cripple, I just…” And she’s in front of me now, having covered at least 5 feet distance in seconds, her arm outstretched to balance herself. She reaches out and hovers over my hips, as if she's about to touch but can't bring herself to. It’s electricity, my legs nearly buckle. 

“Do you feel that?”, she asks. I’m breathing heavier now, eyes shut, I feel myself nod. As much as I want to see this, I'm afraid I'd combust the second I open them. She takes it as encouragement to continue. 

“You feel it.” I nod again. My pulse has started racing, I can hear the blood rushing throughout me. Her hand actually makes contact with my waist this time. The smallest pressure against the band of my sweatpants (real sexy, Emily. Great choice there.)

I feel stars. I feel universes. I feel like immolating on the spot. We are touching, intimately. We are touching intimately and it's the first _real_ time face to face and I can't stand it. As right as this feels, something is wrong. 

"You're drunk", an unsteady exhale, "Shit. This isn't right, you're too drunk, Sue." And the reason this isn't right is not because we're technically (as Lavinia said) ' _family_ '. It's not right because Sue is inebriated and I don't want drunk, sad Sue. I want Sue with her hesitant eyes. Sue with her feral eyes. I want her clear headed. She doesn't seem to take my words as rejection and instead moves her hand to my bicep and steadies herself again. 

"Let's get you some water and into bed." It feels like the most responsible plan. 

"Wait, would you hate me if I smoked a cigarette first?" Sue is full of surprises.

"Only if you didn't give me one too."

I touch Sue's back and help her out onto the fire escape. With her this drunk, it's probably not smart to have her 20 feet in the air, but that thought doesn't cross my mind until she's safely out, hugging her knees to her chest. I join her and she hands me her lit cigarette before pulling another out. Great, it touched her mouth. She's grown quiet now, staring out onto the sea of buildings. Black peeling paint on the wrought iron, painted over so many times that it's soft to the touch. Layers and layers, each a life. Once, when I was young, I asked Father, _'How many people live here?'_ and he had told me ' _twice as many as all the windows you can see.'_ I was blown away by that, _'There's a person for every window?', 'There's a whole life for every window.'_

"Emily, do you think I'm a good person?"

"I think you're incredible, Sue."

"I'm sorry for saying all that in the kitchen." I'm a little disappointed at her words but I can sense the sadness start to leak back in. "The truth is.. I think you might be my best friend. But it doesn't feel like friends, right? It's like I've known you since the beginning of time. When we met, you said I was familiar and I thought the same about you. Except I'd never seen you. I think there's something wrong with me."

"You might be my best friend too... and there is nothing wrong with you. I thought it was from the videos at first but it's not just that. Maybe we knew each other in a past life?"

Sue smiles, "Yeah. Some place on a boat. You were the captain, I was the deckhand." I can't help but laugh at her. 

"Definitely a boat. I'm really grateful for our... friendship." I say as she stubs the cigarette out and pulls her knees closer, shivering.

"I think there's something wrong with me, deep inside." She says as if it were a fact. "Will you read to me tomorrow?"

"I can do that."

We are friends. That's nice. Better yet, ancient friends. My mind won't let get of Sue's voice when she admitted that she had wanted to touch me back, that this wasn't some sick experiment in control for her. 

I'm still gathering myself when she crawls into her covers and calls for me.

"Can you stay with me? For a little", she senses my hesitancy. "I'm really sad, remember?", she throws the blanket back and motions for me to get into bed with her. I do, awkwardly, and hand her a glass of water which she proceeds to chug before settling back in and laying her head on my chest. We've gone from zero touches to a new level of intimacy I never could have imagined. 

"I can do that."

\----------

I can't sleep in Sue's bed. It's been hours of me, laying next to her, feeling the in and out of her breath. I assume it's nearly morning at this point and the hazy glow peaking through the window tells the same story. My right arm is paralyzed, pinned under her body. I've been mentally writing this entire time but for some reason I have no urge to move away from her. I have no urge to write these poems out on paper. Paper doesn't feel worthy... these are the types of poems you write onto skin. The type you carve into stone. The type you scream into a cave. 

_I pray, only to you, lips papyrus._

_Darling, I came across you in Nazareth once._

_Both walking the beaten path, do you remember my_

_honey-eyes? Do you remember my weathered hands_

_clasped in front, body as hymn_

_Oh! To give myself_ _a requiem of bible sand_

_to wear you as a scar_

Christ, I need to stop writing about Sue as god. It's absolutely, definitely weird now. I don't love her, I can't love her. It's this infatuation I've been carrying around like Sisiphyus's stone. Completely pointless and heavy and I want to put it down for awhile.

I swear I feel her eyelashes flutter against my collarbone but write it off as the fan blowing. It's hot tonight in New York, humid. We stick together, we boil against each other's skin. I can't help but play our conversation earlier over and over again. She wanted to touch me. All those nights, _she had wanted it too_. And of course she had. Every bit of body language pointed that direction but I needed to hear it. 

The heat in my body is starting to condense and move lower. Certain parts of me noticing different pressure points. Her hand is directly over my sternum and I consciously try to control my heart beat as to not wake her. A fun fact about me, I'm ambidextrous and my left hand _happens_ to be free. The ache is growing between my legs and I shift my body to disperse some of it. 

Leftie sneaks between my legs and applies pressure where I need it most. I swear I feel her lashes move again but her breathing remains slow and methodical. A metronome. I don't move my hand from it's location, just keeping it stationary.

"Emily?" Her voice is barely a whisper. Every muscle tenses and I wonder if she knows where my hand is. I decide that moving is too much of a risk.

"Yeah?" And I think my own voice must be a few octaves higher than normal.

"I'm not drunk anymore."

"Okay."

"Hey, Em. How did you get into my bed?" 

"You told me you didn't want to be alone."

"That's kind of you."

And neither of us move, it's clear she has no memory of our previous conversation which is likely for the best. I have no idea where we'd be if we had to address it. 

"Hey, Sue?"

"Yeah?"

"Why do you cam?"

"Because it makes me feel good."

"How can people watching you, using you to get off, make you feel good?", and Sue is definitely awake at this point. There's no judgement from me, I'm genuinely curious. Her speech is still quiet but clear from the haze of alcohol. 

"Because I'm in control. I show them whatever part I decide."

"And they give you money?"

"It's not about the money. It's about the giving. They all give me a part of themselves even if only for a few minutes. You can't imagine the power. And when there's others involved-- I get to be another self. I get to be transparent and wild and watched. They give me everything."

"That makes sense", my mouth is dry. I feel her hand begin to move against my chest, fingertips making tiny circles. For some reason, sleep comes easy this time. 

\--------

Now that I understood the camming, I couldn't get it out of my head. I hadn't logged into that site since our first confrontation in fear that I'd be tracked and after awhile, I almost forgot it existed. The Sue I knew was so different from the Sue I'd seen on the embedded videos, struggling to buffer with the resort wifi in Mexico. 

Which brings me to now, sitting at my computer, credentials filled in and mouse hovering over the "login" button. What's the harm? Just a quick look. See if there's any new uploads. She'd made it crystal clear that the basement office was hers and I'd accepted the offer. Besides, the basement office hadn't been updated to my knowledge and was essentially a cave carved out of cinderblock slathered in linoleum. And the spiders, oh god. All the spiders. 

I take a deep breathe and log-in before typing the familiar name into the search bar-- Natalie X. To my surprise, there's only one new video with a grayed out screenshot. My heart stops when I reach the title: " _Stepsister bossed around._ " Step-sister? 

There is something so utterly _fucked_ about that and I'm shaking with it. I check the upload date and find that it coincides with the few days between her move to the Townhouse and mine. It couldn't be... it wouldn't be? I can't help but to click on the video and quickly confirm the ($60?!) payment. 

A room, painted dark red, comes into view. A part of me is thankful that it's not my Hampton room. There's a bed in the center that I don't recognize and pieces of furniture slightly out of frame. A song plays in the background that I can't place but am sure I've heard through the thin walls. 

Sue comes into frame first, wearing a tight black T-shirt and brief style underwear on the bottom that I recognize as an empty harness. As she proceeds, I see that her hand is snaked up the back of another girl's head, pulling her hair as she leads her to bed. The slight action alone, the control, _eats_ at me.

The girl is slightly taller with beautiful features and cascading black hair. Her skin is flawless, cafe au lait. She eagerly positions herself on the bed while Sue moves, standing with her back to the camera. She settles herself between the girl's legs and pulls her hair a bit more. A flash of excitement across the other girl's face. The camera is still angled not to show anything above Sue's shoulders but I'd recognize the loose bun and dancing freckles across shoulder blades anywhere.

Sue speaks, confidently, in a tone I'd only heard through my headphones and few times in the dark. It's the voice that commanded ' _again_ ', the voice that warned me the day.

"You love parading yourself around, don't you? Trying to tease me in the kitchen."

"Yes. I love bending over and showing my ass to you." The girl is a terrible actor and Sue doesn't respond well, knowing that she's breaking the fantasy. 

"What would your Father do if he knew how _fucking naughty_ you were? Trying to seduce me, trying to blackmail me."

"Yes, Natalie. I'm so naughty." The girl is loving this game, Sue is unimpressed. She likes the girls who don't beg, I remember. This girl keeps trying to reach up and touch Sue who shrugs her off. At this point, I can read her well. Even with this new persona, she isn't satisfied with what's going on. This isn't my Specter, this is something else. 

"I think you need to be punished. To get exactly what you deserve." And at that, the girl gets on her hands and knees and faces away from the camera, bent over, ass in the air. 

I need to pause the video at this point. I'm on the precipice of an anxiety attack. It's so spot on. At the same time, I see the older lighter and the flame, the desire to _feel_ the yellow part. I press play and watch as Sue proceeds to bring her hand down, hard, onto the girl. Spanking her in earnest.

"How many do you deserve?"

"As many as you decide, Natalie." Obedient. Sue doesn't want her this obedient.

The video continues as such. Sue spanks her for a near 5 minutes straight and I lose count of how many but am acutely aware that she's instructed the girl to count out loud. After that, Sue proceeds to slide her fingers deep into the girl and fucks her, hard, unimpressed. 

For some reason, I can't see the girl anymore. I can only see Sue's hands and arms, moving quickly and surely. At that point, I catch snippets of what she's whispering to the girl;

" _I've wanted you so badly_ ", " _Good girl_ ", " _If you can't hold still, I'll tie your arms_ ", and finally, perhaps most telling;

" _Yeah, you're gonna keep putting on a show for me every night, aren't you?_ "

And with that, I slam my computer closed, bring myself to a swift orgasm, and proceed to hyperventilate. 

\--------

This is a problem. Now that I know, I can't stop knowing. Sue was my best friend. No, not a friend, something different. Sue, who killed the spider that wandered into the kitchen. Sue, who rested her head in my lap while we binged Netflix. Sue, touching herself in the darkness just for me. Sue is gentle, Sue is kind with me.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't revel in knowing what she _truly_ desired. And, a thought that drove me into even more of a frenzy-- maybe she had _wanted_ me to see the video. She had wanted me to know. All those nights spent with my Specter, unsure of her motives. All those nights thinking I'm a freak, pulling her down this twisted path.

And, these secret kinks I'd kept to myself for so long... and there was another person who wanted them as well. And more so, wanted them _with_ me. The shame and lust and desire all mixed into one cocktail and forced down my throat. Would Sue do that, pull my hair back, bare my neck, and pour humiliation into my open mouth? And where the _fuck_ is that red room from the video? Could it be in the basement?

_Own me, twirl me_

_You have my soul twisted round your ring finger._

_I will be your_ _marionette_ _and revel_

_my Master._

I try to keep myself locked in my room after that, avoiding her. I couldn't imagine meeting her eyes. She'd know, instantly, and we'd be forced to address it. She'd tell me that it was a mistake, or worst yet-- that it had nothing to do with me. I'd be completely exposed in front of her. Maybe I'd have to move out. Maybe she would. Unfortunately, Sue and I had grown close and even knowing my reclusive nature, she knew something was wrong.

Eventually, I had to eat. I'd heard the door close earlier and figured that she had left. This might be my only chance for awhile. I crept into the kitchen like a garbage monster, hair wet and dripping from the shower and in pajama pants. 

After assuring that I wouldn't die of starvation for at least a few weeks via leftover pizza, that room swam back into my thoughts. I walked to the basement door, in a trance, and descended the wood stairs.

It was not the cinderblock hovel I'd last seen. Someone had done major remodeling. There was an office with a wooden L desk and dual monitors. Expensive looking camera equipment and a stack of official looking papers.

Her thesis was real, that's reassuring. My eyes couldn't help but notice the heavy door directly next to the desk. After jiggling the handle, I resign that it's locked. I was preparing myself to spend a few hours digging through her things, searching for some sort of clue, when I heard the upstairs door open.

A jingle of keys. _Shit_. 

As smart as my original plan had been, I realize that I am now fully trapped down here with no way of escaping. Brilliant, Emily, just brilliant. A+ on the plan, ya dumb idiot. Even better, I realize that I'd left the basement door open.

I hear Sue calling out, 

"Em, let's talk. Listen, I'm a little worried and-", she stops mid-sentence when she sees the open door. The keys drop and sudden movement on the stairs, taking two of them at a time. The wood rafters shaking a thin blanket of dust loose. When Sue reaches me, her face is painted with fear. 

"Emily. How did you get down here?" I watch her eyes travel to the heavy door and grow even wider, "Is it locked?" It's a little reassuring to know she's not angry with me for invading her personal space. Just scared of what I'd discovered.

"It's locked... is this...?" I start.

"I think we need to talk", she keeps looking back to the door nervously. "Can we go upstairs?"

"Yeah, I think we need to talk too."


	4. Immolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did it make it easier? For you?”
> 
> “Easier in a sense. The questioning is no longer there, the tenseness. The other part? Not so much.”
> 
> “Other part?”
> 
> “The wanting. It might have made it worse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW. ok i've stopped torturing them, this one is literally just sex. if you've stuck around for this many chapters, you deserve it.

We're both sitting at the bistro table and it feels spectacularly odd. Almost like a business meeting. Sue hasn't met my eyes for more than a few seconds the entire time, both her hands in front of her, crossed. She looks like a scolded child. She carefully picks her words and starts,

"Did you see anything?"

"No, it was locked."

"Okay."

"Sue, is that where you, you know, _film_?"

She takes a deep breath, "Yes." I feel empathy rise up into my mouth, sweet and coppery, and even more-- a sense of protectiveness. No one makes Sue feel this nervous and the fact that it's me makes it all the worse. I don't like what sadness does to her face. I reach my hands forward to grab her's.

"I'm okay with it, Sue. It's okay. I was just curious..." she seems a little lighter at that. "But... ' _Stepsister bossed around_ '?" She looks as if she's about to cry.

"Shit. _Shit_. I should have taken it down... Emily, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry for... you have to understand. I didn't know you like this, I only knew our... game. And I needed to process it and I didn't know how else to. I should have taken it down. I am so sorry, you have to understand, I respect you, I fucking _cherish_ you in my life--" And I cut her off before she can continue, still holding her hands.

"I'm not mad. I'm... something else. I kind of liked it." And I'm looking straight at her, the sadness has left, replaced by surprise.

"You liked it" she repeats back to me. There are wheels churning in her brain now. I can see the gears; skipping, stalling. I think I might have broken her.

"I liked it. I've never told anyone... that kind of stuff. That kind of stuff isn't bad. To me. You know how intense I am, are you that surprised?" I add with a sly smile.

"I sort of got the bottom vibe from you. I mean, I'm essentially a professional." Sue sniffles, the unfallen tears disappearing. 

"Bottom? That's offensive. I'll let you know I'm a proud switch", she's fully smiling now.

"That's bullshit. You're _such_ a bottom."

"You're such a top. For a _good girl_."

"I don't think you can ever call me a _'good girl_ ' again after seeing that."

"You called me a good girl. In the video." And I'm suddenly nervous now. The air is more comfortable between us, sure, but we've essentially just normalized wanting to mutually fuck the other. Like, _**so**_ much. There's something a little darker under the surface. Sue exhales deeply--

"This is trouble, isn't it?"

"Feels like trouble."

"We can't though. Right? Like, we can't. It's just... pheromones. You're a bottom, I'm a top. It's just natural intrigue and we can control it."

I'm a little disappointed hearing her say the words but she's not wrong.

"Of course, we can control it. Maybe we just needed to say it out loud, you know? So it can be normal again. And I don't have a problem sometimes... playing our game. Constant test of self control, it's good for us. Keeps me sharp."

"Look at us-- communicating. Who would have thought? And we can still play our game."

"I detest communicating but I make an exception for you. Now, which season of the Bachelor tonight? I just bought a vape pen."

I try not to notice how much Sue smiles at that.

\----------

I struggle a little more with the ' _normal_ ' than I was supposed to. I see Sue curled up on the couch with a book and can't stop picturing what would happen if I crawled into her lap at that moment. If I'd kissed her. I imagine what Sue's lips might taste like with mine. She bites them a lot. Her's. Other's. I've seen that. Would she do it to me? 

Realistically, I think, Sue would freeze and push me off her. Give me a lecture on why this is a bad idea but I can't stop my imagination. There's no harm in letting those fantasies dance across my mind, right? However, the dancing seems to have transformed into a full-on mosh-pit. It has heavy boots and fists; I'm turned on more often than not. My poems have gone from beautiful to downright filthy. Long stanzas dedicated to what's between Sue's legs. Those likely won't make it into my collection. 

I cannot fathom that we haven't touched, not fully. Not like that. My fantasy version of Sue has become _so_ real with _so_ many months behind us that I think, perhaps, she might be my soul mate. This fragment of Sue, glanced and then created by me in my bubbling laboratory. Maybe I stitched her together, shocked her to life, and called it kismet. I sit down at my desk and count the days since I first laid eyes on her. There. 77. It takes 77 days for someone to completely break down my barriers. I wonder if I'm in love with her and decide that it's impossible. You can't love what you haven't held, haven't touched. This is pure infatuation.

And I'm no stranger to infatuation. There was the girl in summer camp, I followed her around like a puppy and when I sheepishly handed her my poems, she had showed the rest of the girls. She asked that I change bunks. ' _She just like, makes me really uncomfortable_.' There was the musician. I consumed her songs as if I were starving. I let her between my legs in the back of the van for the first time and then she stopped calling. 

So, there was the common thread after all. The only way for these infatuations to be broken is to act on them. To turn them, belly up, and watch them struggle. Helpless and weak and unfounded. I stand before realizing that I'm standing at all. I can hear Sue in the kitchen and suddenly, I'm in the doorway and looking at her and she's looking at me. Really looking.

I must look possessed. Her eyes changing from surprise, to confusion, to _pure storm_. I cross the room, emboldened by my epiphanies, fully certain in what needs to happen. I'm moving fast, determined. Seconds before I reach her, I hear,

" _Jesus christ_. Finally" and our lips crash together. One hand, instinctively, traveling to cup her cheek. The other around her hips, bringing her even closer to me.

It's fucking earth shattering. It's magnetic. And Sue is right there, pressing back, kissing with equal fever. Hands everywhere, mouthes pulling away and pressing back together. Gasps. She does bite my lip after all, eyes shut tightly and brow knit. I swear I hear a small whine. 

I don't notice that her hands have been busy undoing the buttons on my shirt until the cool air hits my bare chest. My nipples, hard and sensitive, against my bra. She can see and there's no pretense or effort devoted to coyness. This is pure _want_ and _need._ The shirt falls off my shoulders and I'm there, in a plain black bra, chest heaving. 

She looks pained by the sight of me half naked. While I'd been able to witness her in all her glory more than once, she'd never seen me in less than a tank top and shorts. She lowers her mouth and focuses on my neck, biting again. I feel the wall against my back and realize that we'd somehow switched positions, with her body pinning me against it. 

"Fuck. We can't go back after this", she takes my distraction as an opportunity to nip at my collar bone, "We're crossing a line." And god, I don't want to ruin this but I also don't want to jump on top of her without fully informed consent. Maybe I am a lesbian after all? Communication is pretty gay. 

“I think we’ve already crossed a line. Maybe." And when did her hand get that close? It's all happening so quickly. Her hand, pressing inside my pants with no pretense, no hesitation. Oh god, her fingers are dangerously close to my clit, she applies pressure with her palm. I can't help but to continue, 

“Maybe we just, _mmhm_ , cross the line f-fully? _Shit_. Get it out of our s-systems, and then coexist.” Before I can keep babbling, her fingers reach where I need them most. It takes every ounce of self control, and I’ll be upfront, I have almost none, to not just roll over and offer myself without restraint. Without words or repercussions. 

"I think we need to. It's too much. _God, it's so much_ ", she nuzzles herself into my neck and I know what she means. This is too intense. It’s getting harder to concentrate. I’m not one to lose words but she starts dragging her fingertip up and down. I've never been so wet, if she were to go even a centimeter lower... I’d be exposed. I summon all the strength in the world. 

"It's allowed as long, _oh_ ", I continue, "As long as you don't fuck me."

Her finger stills on my clit and I feel her look up at me. A professional queer domme, pliable and hanging on every word I say. It's clear whose truly in control. We both, silently, adjust the list of rules. 1.) We can touch each other, but no penetration.

I pull Sue's hand from my pants and God, it takes so much to break the contact. I grab her'ss and lead her to her own bedroom only because mine feels too far away. Her eyes are shining with want and amusement as she follows. This is novel to her. I pull her into another kiss before the back of my knees make contact with her bed frame. I'm essentially blind, every bit of my body focused on how she feels against it. Sue straddles me as I lay down underneath her. 

With a little hesitation, I reach behind my back and unhook my bra. She takes it from me and I can see those gears working in her head again. She looks down at my naked chest and gives another half-pain, half-desire whine. I manage to remove the jeans, still unbuckled, from my hips without having to adjust her even an inch off me. 

She leans back and pulls her own shirt from her body. Our eyes meet before I bring my hand between my own legs, not surprised at the molten hot wetness I find there. Sue is straddling me and watching and I'm touching myself now. Our nightly game revisited with a twist. There is no shadow, no sliver of light. She's _right here_.

I carefully lead her hand back between my legs, under mine. And with that, I begin to move it as before. Essentially, using her hand as my own, teasing. Lazily adjusting her finger tip with the lightest pressure. Her eyes are closed tight and she's whining again. Struggling not to take over, to pin my hands above my head, to devour me whole.

I know that Sue would never forgive herself if she initiated this. She'd always doubt, always think she'd pressured me. I needed to be the one in control. I doubt she's ever sacrificed it in her entire life but here she was, giving me her hand to use, bending to my will. 

At some point, Sue's hand finds her own center. She's matching movements with mine. It's absurd, really, to think that what we're doing is somehow more acceptable than if she'd strapped on and fucked me into a different universe, but something about this feels safer.

We've already done this, right? In a way. Although we both know that this is completely different. 

I get close much faster than she does. It starts in my thighs, muscles beginning to jump on their own accord. I can feel a pulling, low in the stomach, as the orgasm begins to build. I'm so focused on trying not to cum and end this that I don't realize Sue's breathing has become broken and shallow. The thought that Sue was about to cum, merely from _feeling_ me get off, is enough to push me over the edge.

I instinctively bring my left hand to my mouth to muffle the moan that always seems to sneak up on me. Sue, acting just as quick, yanks the hand away, 

"I want to hear", her voice. Smooth as molasses when she's sweet. Hard as brick when she's confident. 

I cum, _loudly_. She's not far behind. The waves roll through my body and my hips jerk once, twice, three times. On the third, Sue comes undone. It's the push I need to continue through it. I can't seem to stop falling, over and over, into this white-hot pleasure as she collapses on top of me, panting.

We're staring at each other now, both searching each other's eyes for something. Our breathing has returned to normal but her hand stays between my legs, where I'd left it. With deliberate slowness, she drags the two fingers that had previously been pressed against my clit back out. They glisten with the wetnes. She makes a show of putting them into her own mouth, tasting me. 

" _Jesus, Emily_ ", she whines once more, in longing. I know how badly she wants to bring her mouth to me, I want it just as bad. We both fall asleep, naked. I don't remember when exactly I drag myself to my own bed, I just know how cold it is when I get there. 

\----------

It’s nearly a week since that night. We'd discussed it the next morning and it hadn't been as awkward as I'd feared. She gave me that sly smile, told me I did a good job. Said that she commended my self control and was glad we'd decided on, " _something that could get it out of our systems._ " Without the exact words, she made it clear. It was out of her system. She had me. It was fun. It was over for her. 

I’ve recently been trying to leave the Townhouse more often. I go to classes, usually, if my time wouldn’t better be spent. I listen to them lecture for hours and pretend to be wowed by the accomplishments of old white men. Sue and I coexist, as was originally intended. She comes into my room and shows me music. I show her poems. We FaceTime Lavinia. Things start to feel wholly comfortable between us once again. 

I decide that the responsible thing (and I don’t often opt for responsible) would be to go out and get laid. Despite how good it had felt to have her hand on me, it woke an even stronger urge. So I find myself again at a gay bar, finishing the watery end of a Whiskey-Ginger and cashing out. There’s a girl with a backwards hat and stupid tattoos behind me waiting to head to my place. 

At this point, sex is absolutely necessary for my well-being. It’s been months since the real thing. Back in Mexico, I'd wasted time with that boy who had strong arms and smelled like the ocean. He didn't know what a clit was, but he had value in other ways. So I let a girl in a hat woo me instead. I laugh at her jokes, I ignore how small her hands are. Sue’s hands aren’t small, deceptively big for her height. Arms like tree branches, old and natural and powerful.

Hat girl kisses all wrong back in my bedroom. She tries too hard, too forward with the tongue, when she puts her hands on me it feels like someone prospecting for gold. I curse myself when I can’t help but to stop her. 

“Hey.. th-this isn’t working. I actually have to write. Can I call you later?” And she’s astounded. It’s clear she’s not used to being denied. The faux confidence returns to her face in an instant. 

“For real? Okay then.. wow. Okay. Yeah”, She puts her hat back on before her shirt. It's weird. I contemplate stopping her and asking her to fuck me hard enough for me to forget who she is but my dignity won’t let me. She has a tattoo on her ribs of an anchor with the script, _'I will not sink.'_ Sinking is literally the only that that anchors do. I’m just repulsed by the entire experience. I want her gone.

It’s pure nirvana when the door shuts behind her. She had turned around, surely for a last kiss or to say something, but I’d just followed through until I heard the click of the automatic lock. I want to write but feel oddly empty as if entertaining this stranger had sucked every bit of creativity out of me. I opt for a joint and the couch instead. I’m not sure how long I’m sitting there before the basement door opens and I see Sue accompanying a tall brunette. The girl’s eyeliner is smeared, her dress crooked, and she’s smiling as wide as possible. She looks absolutely heavenstruck and Sue gives her a kiss on the forehead before she leaves. I catch something along the lines of, _“For sure”, “We’ll do this again”, “Yeah I’ll venmo you, this was great.”_

Instead of retreating to her room or showing any ounce of shame, Sue sinks down next to me. We’re quiet for a bit until I can’t help it.

“I see you’re camming again then”, She exhales deeply and half-laughs. 

“Those in glass houses.. shouldn’t have stones? Shouldn’t walk around naked? No, shouldn’t throw stones. Something like that.”

“Oh? And I’m in a glass house?”, She meets my eyes this time. I can see the post-sex glow on her, the residual dominate confidence still dewey on her neck. I can’t help myself sometimes, I always drop the bait. She always bites.

“You know that you are”, she offers. The throb between my legs. Jesus christ, “Besides, I saw that girl come in with you earlier. It looks like you got yours tonight.” She reaches over and grabs the joint from me, takes a long drag and hands it back.

“That was a waste of time. Not… good.” I say dryly.

“You didn’t fuck then?”

“No, I’m apparently saving myself.. for the apocalypse?”, Sue likes that one and laughs, a single loud “ _ha_ ”. She relaxes further in the couch helps herself to another hit.

“Well, I’m bored, tell me about it?”

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours. Who was that?”

“Carly, she’s a friend. Likes being restrained, breath play. Makes for a good video but her moans are”, and she crinkles her eyebrows for a moment, searching for the right word. The lines on her face visible. I bet that’s where the wrinkles will be in a few years, they don’t look bad. She settles on the word, “ _Disingenuous._ ” 

“I forgot mine’s name. She was too confident. So Carly-- girlfriend material?" I'm not as smooth as I'm trying to be. It feels absurd, to care so much.

“God no. She’s a business partner, in a way.”

“A business partner who gets in your pants”, She leans close to me now, suddenly serious,

“She doesn’t get to touch me. That’s something earned” and part of me knew this. There are no videos of Sue being touched on her channel. No, Natalie X is a strict top. I just always assumed that Sue would get down off camera.

“And how would someone earn it?” She’s fully engaged, she knows what I’m doing.

“Oh, they’d have to do a lot more. I’d have to want it. They’d have to prove themselves.. and the 3 orgasms I just pulled out of Carly weren’t nearly good enough.”

“Don’t you get..” And I’m stumbling over my words. Voice is not my medium of choice, “Don’t you get turned on?”

“Of course. But I know how to control myself. Do you?” 

Okay, so we’re doing honesty hour. Cool. I can play. 

“I can control myself. I’m a master of control. You know me, always the master of my emotions.” Her eyes are shining. Back in dangerous territory, we’ve got more red flags than a red flag factory. And maybe if I’d been smart, I’d back away now. Make up an excuse to leave and touch myself until I was screaming later to this conversation.

“You were a wet, whimpering mess the other night, Master in Control.” Nope. Red flag. I need to stop this now. It’s clear that something has changed, there’s no reason to leave. We’re alone here, there’s nothing stopping us. There is no safety net. I could walk away. Or.. I could play into it. Knowing full well what could happen, what _had_ happened, and knowing that if I pushed enough, I might get it again. 

“Oh, so you remember.”

“I do.” Her eyes are dark again. How far will she go? I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I found myself googling 1 bedrooms for rent earlier. This can’t keep going forever. 

She continues, “I also remember how you mentioned a line crossed, or not crossed. And the other night was great and all but maybe we need to get this _completely_ out of our systems. So we can function, of course.” We’re inches away from each other. When did she move onto the couch? She’s not even touching me and I’m buzzing once again. I think of her face when she placed those fingers into her mouth. What would her mouth feel like?

“It just feels like the responsible thing to do.”

And it doesn’t take more than a second for her to straddle me. Kissing again and it’s not our first time, of course, but it feels different. There’s nothing between us, nothing holding us back, nothing saying “ _Stop! This is wrong!”_ , I’m completely outside of my body watching myself, only tethered to reality by the physical sensations. We don't do the foreplay thing this time. We don't pretend that I merely want to control her hand. We don't even make an attempt to move to a bed. That damned hand of hers, hovering over where I need it most, hesitant.

"Are you finally going to fuck me, or are we going to keep playing this game?" I ask, my confidence surprises even me.

 _So she does_. Miraculously, she’s fully inside. I abandon the idea of breathing. It's everything I've needed but amplified by a thousand. I can't get enough, my nerves on fire. Two fingers impossibly deep. I never knew it was possible to feel this full. Owned. There's no time to adjust, no time to rethink our actions. Something reminds me that I’m completely at her mercy in this position. Not even gravity standing in the way. 

Her fingers pistoning in and out, fast and measured. Her teeth are on my neck, her voice so close to my ear. I can smell sweat, something sweet, on her. Lavender, always. My mind is coming undone, I forget how to breathe. I forget everything.

And so she speeds up. The power behind each thrust like she’s searching for something. Some point of no return, some padlock to click open, and she finds it quickly. My hand goes to my own clit by muscle memory and there is no slow build. No pulling in the pit of my stomach, no gentle lift. This is animalistic. 

My legs are shaking, she’s whispering some sort of filth into my ear. I catch only, " _Take it for me_ ", “ _Fuck_ ”, “ _Good girl_ ”, and the last which I barely register but clearly was most important, “ _You better ask before you cum._ ”

And I definitely do not. But I definitely do cum. Wildly, unbridled, hips shaking and squirming and bucking, and she doesn’t stop her ruthless rhythm for a second. 

“You didn't ask, Em. That means 'a _gain_ ”, and I’m too sensitive now. It’s starting to get concerning. Her speed doubles. She’s even deeper, she’s unrelenting. I feel my second orgasm start to surge. She can feel it too (Christ, she’s deep enough to feel my soul at this point), and takes advantage, she grabs my hips closer to her, pulling me into her lap. 

With one hand, she curves her fingers inside of me in an upward motion pressing into the most sensitive spot. The other hand hovers over my lower abs and slowly presses down. The added pressure of her on each side is too much, something bright and exploding behind my eyes. I barely get out--

“ _Please_ ”, and I know from the tone of her voice, it’s the right thing to say.

“Cum." 

It was bound to happen but her added command is aerosol over a flame, a roaring burn beyond reason or control. I fully dissociate for a second but come back, only to feel the wetness gushing out of me and dripping down her wrist. Eyes nearly manic with happiness, bright, hands still moving at lightening speed. 

I can’t stop. There’s something that broke, some dam somewhere, and I’m floating between orgasms. Mental note— get this couch cleaned ASAP. She just won’t stop, she’s possessed. My Specter, _fully inside_. Me, writhing, offering myself on an alter. 

When she finally slows, the dam isn’t repaired. Not even close. All these months of need and want and must culminated to this moment. And all the guilt and shame and fear all at once. I can’t help but choke out, 

"Bedroom, now."

\----------

She’s impossibly deep inside me, again. Rocking slowly, more whisper than thrust. We’re both exhausted, I’ve lost count of the orgasms I’ve had. At some point we made it to her room, at some point the harness made it to her hips. She’s nuzzled in the nape of my neck as we both come back down from the last. I understand the meaning to so many more words now: _exhausted, filled, empty_. 

I’ve moaned, I’ve been twisted into more positions than I knew existed, I’ve screamed, it’s a shock that my voice still works.

“Sue?” She stills her hips for a second. 

“Mhm?” 

“God, wh-why don’t I want you to stop yet?” And with that, she’s renewed, I’m on my stomach and she’s still inside. Her strap on is definitely bigger than her fingers but I think I still prefer them more. I reach back, between thrusts, between her legs. God, she’s soaked. Somehow in the last few hours, she hasn’t stopped long enough for me to fully focus my attention on her. A new desire takes over-- to taste her. She doesn’t stop my hand but stills again, 

“I don’t usually sacrifice control, especially not when I’ve had to wait this long”, and I realize this is my in. She’s vulnerable, thinking just because I’m pinned to the bed by her impossibly big toy, fucking _speared_ , she's safe. This is my opportunity.

“Tell me about that control." Tentatively, I move my hand to cup over her pussy. God, she _is_ silk. She purrs and falls deeper into my hand. 

“It’s… taboo. Girls are soft, delicate. Their hands, eyelashes, _Oh **.**_ ” 

The soft gasp all the encouragement and consent I needed. I’m rubbing now, fully. Driven by the desire to touch her, even if it requires an ongoing distraction held up on my end. “I just have this .. urge to break pretty things. The seemingly innocent ones that, in secret, actually like to be ordered around, degraded. It drives me _w-wild_.” 

This would be much easier if I wasn’t distracted by the strap on buried in me. This position is getting harder and harder to maintain but the sound of her body giving in drives me all the more.

“And me?” I’ve managed to slip a finger past her boy shorts, Those toned arms on either side of me, holding her up. She’s got her eyes closed again and those forehead wrinkles.

“Y-you were.. _are_ the best of them. Taboo. Not allowed. When w-we, _ugh_ ” I’m directly on her clit, making circles, “when we met, you were so stubborn and obstinate and fucking… hot. And I had to have you.” 

I let my hand leave her waist and grab the vibrator next to us, it’s been put to good use and I’m sure my clit will be bruised tomorrow. In an, I’m sure, unsexy way, I manage to turn my head enough to press it onto her behind me. The strap on moves up and I can hear her voice hitch when it reaches the perfect place.

I won’t pretend that the words didn’t hurt a little. _Taboo_ , not allowed, and that’s what I am to her. A conquest having served myself up for her, willingly. I mean, it’s fine. This is the deal, get it out of our system. The problem is I can't imagine this will ever be enough.

“E-Emily. Fuck. **Fuck**.” She’s getting more desperate now, this isn’t going to take long at all. She needs it so badly. I’m still acutely aware of the toy inside me, every bit of mental energy I have is focused on keeping the vibrator still. She comes, quick and quietly, before slumping over onto my back and panting. 

She slowly withdraws and I’ve completely forgotten what it feels like to be empty. Somewhere in the distance, church bells. Fuck. Church bells. That means 7AM mass is about to start. That means we’ve been fucking for almost 6 hours. 

“Out of your system?”

“Yeah. I think I need to go pray or something” and that one makes her laugh.

\-------

Not surprisingly, it didn’t help the dynamic. I’d crawled out of her bed at some point and into mine. We invent more unspoken rules: 

1.) We can fuck and fall asleep together but _never_ wake up together. 

I sleep, wake to write, and sleep again. It was like no other feeling previously felt. Not enough, too much. We must be the pioneers of this specific ache, I imagine that any one else who’d ever felt this must have immediately burst into flame. 

_Your hand has awoken the snakes in me, the furling rose petals bruised_

_for having been touched by you. Your nail creasants,_

_my true moon._

It wasn't like the mutual masturbation which had quieted the storm for a bit. We'd laughed about that after. But Sue, literally cumming while inside me? This is gasoline. The morning after of prolonged looks, avoiding each other like the plague. I’d enter a room, she’d suddenly need to be somewhere else. I found myself checking her website once again. For what? Anything. A hint of her. Nothing, of course, after the Carly video which I refused to watch. That night, Sue was mine. Carly was nothing.

It’s a big Townhouse. 3 bedrooms and the office. It’s easy to not run into the other person for a time but at some point it’s bound to happen. So I’m in my typical space. Hands aching from the words that seem to easily spill out of me lately, nursing a joint. The basement door creaks and I feel a figure shuffle out. Sue, lost in her own thoughts, unabashedly sits herself next to me on the couch. Her next to me feels like... well, I think I've done enough feeling. I wonder if she even realizes I'm here.

“We never discussed the other night.”

“Oh? Yes, of course. I mean, we can? If you want. I’m fine not. Everything doesn’t alway have to be words, Emily.” I ignore the slight dig. If I’m ever going to get this feeling out of me then I have to talk to her.

“Did it make it easier? For you?”

“Easier in a sense. The questioning is no longer there, the tenseness. The other part? Not so much.”

“Other part?”

“The wanting. It might have made it worse.”

“I know what you mean.” And I’m assured. Anxiety wavering.

“You aren’t avoiding me anymore then, that’s a positive. Not scared off?” I hadn't been aware that I had been the one doing the avoiding.

“I’m not scared of anything, especially not you.”

“Then I haven’t showed you enough, clearly.” 

She reaches her hand out for the joint. That confession, the affirmation may have been enough. Please god, it has to have been enough. 

"You're quiet when you cum."

" _You_ aren't."

"I'm not _that_ loud."

"We'll find out about that."

\----------

And then it happens again. With Sue climbing on my lap and kissing every part of me. She lets me hold the vibrator against her and comes just as silent as before. She presses her mouth to me fully, without reservation, and it's so _soft._

And then, it happens again.

And again.

And again.

At some point, I grow tired of only being able to touch her in measured amounts. I understand her moral code of "thou shall give and never take", but I don't like it. The night I finally break, we're in the shower together. She's pressing me against the freezing cold tile, doing something nefarious with her hand, and something in me snaps. I hold her face in both my hands and look deep into those eyes. 

"Can I taste you?" I'm not sure if I expect it to work.

"...Yeah. Yeah."

And with that, I drop to my knees in front of her. Water still cascading down both our bodies. I've seen nearly every inch of Sue at this point but never _this_ part, not _this_ close. It's intoxicating, she's so fucking beautiful and served up right in front of me, consenting. She smells sweet even through the glaring citrus soap that still clings it to her arms. 

When my tongue runs up the length of her slit, she gasps and puts at arm out to brace herself. And, when my tongue finally makes contact with her center, the other hand wraps itself into my hair and pulls, holding my mouth against her. 

When she cums, she moves a bit, resulting in the stream of water rerouting itself directly onto my face. I can barely breathe between the waterboarding and her legs moving and not wanting to stop the rhythm I've worked up to.

It feels like a baptism of sorts. Like drowning, body floating in the lake being dragged up. Life kissed into it. And if this is what Death feels like, I've never wanted it so badly.


	5. Ashes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> had to throw some plot in here at some point, comments welcome, lemme know what you think.

The earth itself is beating. Perhaps it's the music-- 80's hits so loud that they reverberate inside your chest. Lights swirling their thin beams over a pit of moving bodies. Almost Grecian in the lust of it. As much as I want to be here, it's a lot. As much as I want to be here, I don't. Clubs drain me, while I'm at home, I crave the excitement. While I'm here, I just want to leave. But this wasn't my ideal plan for the night, when my phone rang with her name, I couldn't help but look.

**Sue, 11:43pm:**

**"I'm down the street, come meet up with us"**

And so, because Sue beckons, I come. I'd also brought Jane with me to save face and throw suspicion, she's the only other person I'd consider a real friend here. There was something about how wide her eyes would get when she found something interesting, how insincere everything she did was. I saw Jane, I understood Jane. Plus, it made me feel special when she chose to be sincere with me above others.

However, Jane also has this cute way of completely disappearing in bars as soon as you both arrive. I catch a flash of her white-blonde hair across the dance floor but she's standing close to another girl and I decide against ruining her night. I've opted for beer, not wanting to get so drunk that Sue wouldn't sneak into my room later. Or, maybe, if I was lucky, she'd strip me right in the hallway. 

I'm standing by the bathroom when Sue finds me. It's the first we've seen each other today after trading dirty texts since 9a. I may be the poet but Sue knows exactly what to say and when to say it. When she finds me, her face lights up as if she hadn't seen me in a decade. Music still turning everything into static, still wrapping around our hearts and contracting. 

She even goes in for a casual hug before pausing, pressed against me, and realizing how strange it was to just _hug_. 

And with that, we turn our heads in unison and meet each other's lips. It's softer than I imagined knowing that we're in a completely, utterly, public place. It's tender at first, nearly innocent, before Sue gives that tell-tale whine and I'm switching our positions.

I feel her smile into my mouth and I can't pull our bodies apart. We're far from the dance floor but, like magnets, we begin to move together to the music. My hands are in her hair, breath hovering over breath. Forehead grazing forehead. Intertwined and pushing back. I'm reminded of watching those nature documentaries with the birds who flit and jump around each other to court. The ones who build giant rock nests. The ones that seem to just scream their lust into a chorus of identical lust, desperately hoping that their mate will hear it over the rest. Will know it's them, will know that it's true.

Sue only stops and breaks us both out of the trance when she catches a figure gawking. 

Jane, holding two drinks, eyes the widest I've ever seen them.

"So, okay. Wow. This is new!" Her voice filled with bemusement more than judgement. Sue jumps away from me as if she was mouse and I was electricity coursing through the maze walls. 

"Jane! Oh my god, it's so great to see you again. Wow. I am so drunk, you look so good." Sue masterfully pulls the mask out of her back pocket and drapes it over her face. But no, she doesn't stop there. She proceeds to take Jane's face in her hands and kiss her deeply. Pulling back, eyes shining, "I've had so many drinks. Who else will kiss me?"

And then Sue is gone. I feel my own body deflate. Every iota of oxygen rushing out, devoid of anger but sprinkled with bitter disappointment. Jane seems to understand and loops her arm around mine, leading me outside with her. The New York wind blasts us as we leave the bar, it feels like a new world we've entered and the sweat turns to ice on my neck.

We sit, silently, on the stoop as Jane nurses a cigarette.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asks, genuinely curious. When I don't respond, she continues, "That didn't seem very friendly back there. Are you two... a thing?"

I take the cigarette from her and drag deeply, contemplating my words before deciding on, "No. Not a thing." Smooth exhale, "We just do that sometimes."

As much as Jane loves gossip, I can sense her internal struggle to not pry further and support me. When I don't continue, she does. "I like to do things that feel good, personally. It doesn't seem like that made you feel good. You aren't following your joy and I just read an article on Buzzfeed that said you should always follow your joy. Fuck the rest."

"Definitely, fuck the rest"

"Wait." The recognition crossing her face and her eyes, even wider. "Have you two fucked already?"

"Maybe. No. Yes. Tons of times, so many times."

Jane needs to sit with the revelation for a minute.

"Just... be smart, okay? Don't do anything stupid. I know you live to suffer but... that looks like all _suffer_ and no _live_."

"How can I stop it, Jane, when I don't want to stop it. I swear, she just eats away at my brain. I can't focus when she's close, I can't focus when she's far. Do I have to just survive, clinging to life, while she cores me? This is bullshit and it's all so, so complicated." 

"I don't know, girl. Follow your joy. Find it and then follow it."

Sue stumbles out and finds us, outside. She seems completely unaware of the tension and decides to pull me up. I give her my hand willingly. 

"Hey Em, let's go home. Jane, it was so nice to see you again. We'll do it _super soon_ , I swear. I'm sorry to steal her away but we have to go.. handle a situation. Our apartment is on fire."

"What?!" Jane and I answer together. 

"I'm just kidding, we have... bills. We have to go pay our bills or they'll turn the power off", Sue giggles. 

"Sue, what the fuck, have you not been paying bills? I venmo you every month. This isn't okay." I'm always the last horse to cross the finish line. 

She abandons the charade, turns to Jane head on, "Emily and I have to go have sex now, Jane."

Sue beckons, so I come. 

\----------

Do you ever float in yourself? Half awake, half asleep. I think I might be possessed by words, I’m positive that can happen. Maybe I'm a papered wasp nest with all the drones angrily smashing themselves around inside. Time stops meaning anything, I am suspended and submerged in lake water, slowly freezing. They say that before someone drowns to death, they are overcome with a sense of euphoria. Some people even inhale _more_ water in their lungs, thinking it's air. The last gulp is done with joy, a nail on their coffin.

They say when you freeze to death, it feels like burning. You go mad with the cold, they usually find frozen bodies completely naked. You're hypothermic but you think you're burning so you strip your last defenses away. You even hear the sizzle of your skin against snow. Aching for it's warmth. Body temperature plunging, blood rushing to your internal organs in a last ditch effort. But it's not heat, you're not saved. You're just too far gone in the madness. 

I wonder if they’ll find me a glacier with my phone still buzzing a reminder to submit my Women's Lit paper by Thursday at 8am.

Things are finally comfortable between us. Mostly because we've been fucking like animals _every. single. night._

“Emily, we need to go now. _Shit_ , I forgot about the luncheon.”

“What even is a luncheon? And why is it on a Saturday morning?” I stir in bed, leaning up as Sue is frantically searching her closet for a dress. 

“I know Marla has been texting you nonstop about this. We’re literally in the same text thread, look” And I see a bit of Marla in her at this point, she’s scrolling up messages. Proving that I'm wrong is clearly more important than getting dressed. “Three weeks ago, she told you about the party, you reacted with a thumbs-up emoji. And here, two days after that, thumbs up. And _wait,_ Emily, you’ve responded with a thumbs up to every single message she's sent.” 

I force a smile and give Sue an exaggerated thumbs up. She doesn't think my defiance is cute this morning. 

“This is the first time we’re seeing them. Oh god. Okay, we need to act normal.”

“Really? I was going to go down on you during appetizers. So you’re saying **not** to do that?”

Sue doesn't even respond, just continues throwing clothes onto the bed. I take this moment to tease her, throwing the blanket from my body. Re-write to the rules, 1.) We can wake up together, but absolutely no pet names.

"Are you sure you don't want to skip it and do filthy things to me? I might let you try that _one thing_ you want."

I can tell the teasing isn't going to work today but it was worth a shot to get out of this lunch. She looks pained for a moment before summoning her best domme voice, 

"Get your ass up and dressed before I decide to take you up on that offer." It's _sort of_ what I wanted to hear but the idea of doing _that_ while Sue is angry? Probably not a good idea. Before I can take a full breath, I’m pulling my boots on and the car has been called and Sue is staring at me, still clearly annoyed. That feeling lingers into the Lyft while we sit next to each other, more awkwardly than we've been in weeks.

“You’re annoyed with me,” I state.

“I’m not annoyed with you. I’m just nervous. About being around _them_. About being around _you_ _while_ being around _them_.”

“It’ll be fine as long as you can keep your hands to yourself.”

“Shut up. I’m worried about _you_ … you know that your face is impossibly easy to read, right?”

“Can you read my face right now?” I open my legs a little farther. My jeans are tight, her eyes are immediately drawn down. I lean my head back and exhale deeply before biting my lip. She reaches down hesitantly, eyes trained on the rear view mirror to make sure the driver is looking away. Her hand makes contact with my thigh, slowly moving upwards. I know she can't help herself.

When she makes reaches my center, I can barely suppress the moan. She leans closer now, lips inches away from my ear. 

“Can you behave for me today, _baby_?" She asks. A lazy smile comes over my face. Okay, rewrite to the rules: 1.) Pet names are okay.. but no monogamy. When she calls me baby, I feel it inside my chest and decide that I definitely want to feel that again. 

“No,” I smile. 

\----------

Sue is seated directly across from me and it feels fitting. She needs to behave around Marla and my Father. Her hands are metaphorically tied. Oh, _that's an idea_. I wonder if Sue would ever let me tie her hands? No, it's not her style. The amount of control that I have over the situation hits me— this is _my_ moment. Sue, in her obedient god-daughter shroud, is helpless. Me? Absolutely shameless. 

“And how is school, Emily?” My Father attempts to make conversation.

“A closed fist around my creative spine? A swollen leech draining my life force and shoving it into perfect plastic molds?” The silence hangs between all of us while I spear asparagus onto my fork, “Otherwise it’s fine.” Father seems unfazed by any dramatic display I can pull. This is our dynamic but it’s clear that Sue and Marla are shocked by it. 

“Good, good. I’m glad they’re appreciating the classics. I always say, ‘you’ve got to cover the classics’”, he nods to himself. 

“That’s right, you’re always saying that. I’ve _definitely_ heard you say that before.” Sarcastic until the end, give me wit or give me death. 

“How is the Townhouse working out?” I notice that Sue is almost silent in this conversation, I can feel her eyes trained on me, studying. 

“Great! It’s been incredible truly. The ceilings are high, everything has been great” she ignores me and only answers him.

“It’s fine. Excepts the walls”, Dad’s eyes suddenly raise under his glasses. 

“What’s wrong with the walls? Did the renters do something? I knew it, I knew they would. Marla, didn't I tell you they would? They had too many plants to be trusted--”

“Yeah, there’s just _tons_ of _holes._ ” I need to win some sort of award for this performance. Sue’s eyes bore into me as I continue eating as if this were completely normal. And it is, right? For anyone who isn’t Sue. This metaphor is getting absolutely vulgar and I revel in it. Roll around in the dirt. 

“You get that with posters, frames”, Marla feels she needs to add something to the conversation. 

“Sue has tried to help. She’s managed to handle a few of them. Right, Sue? Do you remember that?” She’s about to strangle me and not in the good way. 

“Of course. Need to preserve the prewar features. It’s really a wonderful place though, we haven’t had any issues”, she's is scrambling to appear normal. Desperate. My Father's eyes are on his food but he nods again, clearly satisfied with the answer. 

“And you girls are getting along all right?” Marla asks. 

“It’s alright. I know I’m a handful but Sue seems up to the task.” At this point, I’m getting to myself imagining Sue’s hands at work. The delicate tendons raising like piano strings. I’ve been relishing in my control safely across the table with Sue’s dignity holding her in line. I don’t know how much more she can take, I’ve never seen her eyes so dark. 

“It’s been lovely” Sue's curt. The staff comes to take our plates away and I wait to make a remark about hiring staff for a literal family lunch and the irresponsible, capitalist bullshit that is... but I can’t stop thinking about the look she gave me. Sue pushes her chair back. 

“I hate to leave the table first but I’ve been meaning to grab a few things from my room for the Townhouse”, I jump onto her opportunity and rise as well.

“Good idea. Hey Sue, _can I come_?” and I face her head on, trying my best not to emphasize the words enough for suspicion but just enough for Sue to understand. She averts my eyes and agrees. I feel almost cocky as I walk down the hall behind her, I’m sure she’ll yell, give me that look that makes my insides pool at the bottom of my stomach. Steel cooling after burning red-hot. Ideally, when we get home tonight, she’ll yell at me again, ending with her on her back, biting my shoulder blade.

However, the second we turn the corner and are safely out of sight, She pushes me hard against the wall, leans close to my face, 

“I know what you’re doing”, she whispers through closed teeth, “and I know what you _think_ will result from it… but in a few hours your little power trip will be over and you’ll be locked in a house with me.” God, why is it so hot when she’s condescending? “I think you need to consider the _gravity_ of your actions, Emily.” 

“Were you thinking about your actions when I was talking at the table? That was my aim, you know. To make you think about it. And truthfully, I’m kind of having fun right now.” Being pressed between a wall and Sue's body has become a natural feeling. That was it though. That’s all I needed to say. She falls against my lips, hand on the back of my head holding me in place. I wrap my own hands around her hips, resting my thumb precariously close to spot next to her hip bone that makes her shudder. 

“Bedroom. Now.”

“Really? I mean, they’re downstairs. Maybe we should wait?” But it’s clear the power dynamic has shifted back to where it always is. As I’m internally monologuing, I don’t even notice my feet following her up the steps. We’re crossing into the threshold of her bedroom and as smooth as possible, her hand snakes up the back of my neck and into my hair, pulling tightly. My head instinctively tilts back and I can’t help but smirk as she literally leads me further inside. Into demise. Into nirvana. 

That smirk is quickly replaced when she redirects me away from her bed and towards her desk. This is new. She bends me over, making quick work of pulling my jeans down just enough for her hand to slip between them. There’s no pause before she enters me fully with two digits and begins to move them, curling and twisting. 

“Is this what you wanted, then? To be fucked with your parents down stairs.”

“U-ugh. _God_. Don’t talk about them right now, f-frea-“ But before I can complete the insult, she presses me down onto the desk surface. Cool particle board against my cheek, the new position gives her more access. I gasp with the renewed efforts. 

“ _In-cor-rig-ib-le_ ”, she thrusts on every syllable. I’m breathing loud but mouth firmly closed. If I were to open it, the noises that might slip out—

She continues, “If you want to cum, you need to be silent.” I whimper in response. “That’s not”, a particularly forceful thrust, “quiet.”

And I’m moving my hips to meet her now, absolutely writhing. She knows how close I am. “Can I touch?” she knows exactly what I’m asking. I’m met with a short, “Yes” before my hand instantly flies between my own legs and begins. I can already feel it start to build.

“Now.” With the new sensation of those damned curled fingers, I’m pulled off the edge of the cliff. No, ' _pulled'_ is too gentle, perhaps ' _dragged_ ' is more apt. My legs shake, my hands grip the desk until knuckles grow white but she keeps pulling me downwards with her. Her hand is instantly gone as I start to settle. She’s in the attached bathroom lathering with soap as I shakily stand up and pull my pants back over my hips. She pulls me into a deep, slow kiss with her hand against my cheek. “We have to go downstairs now, I think I heard my Marla calling.”

There’s a man standing with Marla and my Father in the foyer as we both descend the stairs. Sue is smug, typical, chipper. As if nothing happened, as if the wetness wasn't dripping down my leg. I’m still processing and trying to focus on not missing a stair. Sue shakes the man’s hand, and Dad offers,

“Emily, Sue. This is Jorge. He lives next door and has been helping out with some landscaping. I’ve uh, told him about you both.” Jorge looks past Sue and onto me. I have no idea how anyone could _ever_ look past Sue. We’re all walking back towards the courtyard when he faces me. 

“Your Dad was telling me about you. I’ve got to say, the elementary school pictures don’t do you justice.” 

Oh. That’s what this is. That’s what this entire lunch was about, an excuse to introduce me to some random man. At the same time, there’s this guy. He’s handsome, his face seems kind, he’s clearly funny. 

“Really? I’ve often been told 4th grade was my peak.”

“Ahh, I get it. The silver faux leather jacket. But kids aren’t really my style” Oh. He is quick. I don’t typically find men tolerable to be around but there’s something about him. Here he is, flirting with me in public. Not ashamed, not snuck into a bedroom. Wait-- the bedroom, I almost forgot that Sue is right behind us, well within ear shot. Why not let her get a taste of her own medicine? Flaunting girls around the Townhouse, telling me her exploits. Shunning me at lunch. 

“Not into kids, check. That’s a point in your favor.” He smiles. He’s not a chiseled model but exudes “ _good_ ”. And I still like guys, right? Of course I do. After all that’s happened with Sue I wouldn’t try to deny that some part of me is queer but… he’s cute. So there’s got to be some straight in there too. 

We casually chat for the rest of the afternoon but not as heavy as in front of Sue. I’m so deep into whatever her and I are doing that I can’t even entertain involving another person but Jorge is nice to talk with. He gets my humor… and I make a point of not being too sarcastic with him. 

Sue is perfect daughter mode again, clearing dessert plates and asking if anyone needs anything. Part of me, disappointed she doesn’t respond. Another part of me, foolish for expecting her too. What would Sue do? Take me into her arms and kiss me in front of Marla and my Father? Of course not. We both know what this is. 

\----------

The door shuts behind us and Sue instantly rounds on me, “That was nice. He seemed nice” and it’s not a friendly, supportive tone. Accusatory, her eyes flashing with jealousy while she tries her best to preserve the mask she's yet to take off. 

“Yeah… he’s fine. I told him I’m not interested in a relationship at the moment”, I see her shoulders relax at the confirmation but her lips are still pressed together in an uncomfortable smile. This isn’t fair, she’s not mine, I’m not hers. I should make this hurt. “But I still might fuck him anyway.” Let her be jealous.

But she’s not, atleast not outwardly. She’s avoiding eye contact. 

“Good, you should.”

“And you don’t care?”

“And I don’t care. This is…”

“Stop. Don’t say that.”

“You know what we are."

And with that, I can't help it, I physically push her away from me. The force of it is surprising, I didn't know I could ever be violent with Sue. She anticipates it though, grabbing both my arms and trying to calm me. Tame me. I'm beyond it at this point. Every storm, every look, every slight, everything. It's too much to have Sue and never have Sue. I'm a mermaid, strung to the bow of the ship, continually battered by the waves. Us in the shower, my open mouth and her cascading water. Forcing this down my throat. 

I push against her more, I don't want to be contained right now. I want to be feral, thrashing, and Sue _keeps_ trying to calm me down. At one point, she wraps me tightly in a hug. The pressure of it and the exahaustion of fighting her are too much. 

I sink on the floor with Sue following me there. Curled into a ball, each time the waves of anger seem to quell, the memories flood back and I try to wriggle from her grasp. She just holds tighter, firmer. We're both on the floor and I'm not fighting her anymore and she's not holding me down. Just two, small and clueless women, being thrown around in a storm we don't understand.

We find ourselves face to face, just matching breaths. She, instinctively, reaches her hand over to me and I grasp it in my own. We are weak with this. It's the only way to explain it, as if the loving and the fucking have drained us. I feel like a dried corn husk, twisted into a doll. Sue feels like a child, crushing it instantly and holding the pieces in disbelief. It was supposed to be stronger. I was supposed to be stronger. 

It's not the time for her to press her lips against my collarbones. It's not the time for her to run them across my shoulder, trying to press their brand into my skin. Owning me without the deed. My eyes have decided on a particular patch of the ceiling to focus on as Sue continues her journey downward.

"I want to make you feel good."

"Nothing about this feels good." She stalls at my confession and the ease of which it slipped out, as if it had lived in my mouth for a long time, just waiting for the opportunity. A sweet candy tucked in my cheek, never dissolving, all pebble. Yet, Sue knows. Sue sees. And as I'm focusing on my ceiling tile, I guide her head further down.

This is not the sex we know, it feels like an apology. Desperate bargaining. She's inside me and she's searching.

It's rougher than typical, we're digging into each other. There's teeth and nails and whimpers. She has me on my stomach, face pressed to the pillow, trying to scream something with the movement of her fingers. 

When she asks me to speak, as she typically does, I can't help it any longer. 

"How does it feel?"

"Fuck. Good, so good."

" _How does it feel?_ " Harder thrust.

"I love it, God. _I love you_." 

She stops her motion at that, allows it a second to sink into both of us, and studies my face. I know what she's looking for--- the moment of my panic, the moment I begin to fall into second guesses, shame, remorse. My Specter. My puppet master. She just studies me, watches me fall into myself and yanks the string back at the last second.

"Say it again."

"I love you."

" _Whose is this_?" She's matched with my eyes now. Hand moving slowly. 

"Yours."

" _Whose are you?_ "

"Yours."

\----------

I burst into tears the moment the orgasm leaves me. Sue holds me, she does not cry. She does not try to fix it. What she does, however, is smooth the hair off my forehead before pressing her own to it. 

"No one has ever said that to me before."

"I find that hard to believe." I'm still sniffling but the tears have slowed, forced through a sieve. 

"Not during sex, not really."

"Okay." I'm waiting for something. The words struggling under the skin, nearly visible. I'm waiting for an answer or an insult or anything really but it doesn't come. Sue doesn't answer.

I have a sinking feeling that she never will. 


	6. Rebuild

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact Emily Dickinson actually had a dog named Carlo. also, kill your darlings!! rides not over but we're in the home stretch.

I wake up with the sun. It's my new routine and it _absolutely_ isn't consensual. The light hits harder here, giant wall of single-paned windows on the house that would be impossible to curtain even if I'd wanted to. Today is especially cold. There's a storm slated to hit later in the night and I plan to spend most of the day preparing. 

It's been almost 8 months since my Father died. 

It happened suddenly, of course. I remember the exact street corner on Greenwich where I got the call. The second I had heard the waiver in Marla's voice, I knew. I can't explain it.. or remember what came next. I know that I collapsed to my knees right on the street. A kind Nanny had stopped and asked me where I lived and if she could help me get home. I remember is opening the door to Sue's face, already wet with tears, and the way she had spoken my name, " ** _Emily_** ", the downward hilt in her voice that opened the floodgates before I completely fell apart. 

She took care of me for the first few days. I didn't eat, didn't sleep. At some point in the first few hours I had sat up from the couch and sunk to the floor and just remained there. Sue, unable to move me and unsure of what to do, had brought pillows down and created a makeshift bed for us. She laid with me while I cried (or, in some cases, didn't cry. Just stared at the ceiling for hours.) 

Austin came first having driven from Amherst. He had burst through the door, travel weary and sunk down in the spot next to me. We didn't talk. We just sat in the grief. Lavinia came at some point. Three of us just sat together, unsure of what to do next. 

I decide, at some point, that I no longer love Death. His carriage was a staple in my dreams, a presence in every backdrop, waiting. I had imagined he'd give me veiled metaphors, he'd let the heavy smoke linger around both of us, he'd try to pacify me. _'You can't control what's supposed to happen, girl. How many times do I need to say it?'_ Another, scarier thought, what if my Father was in the carriage with him? As much as the entirety of my body missed him, craved an opportunity to meet him once more, I knew I couldn't face him. The dead know all. Surely, he knew about Sue and I. I couldn't face that, wouldn't face that. 

Somewhere along that train of thought... I realized that it was Sue's fault that I would never be able to say goodbye. Death and my Father would sit in the carriage in front of me for all of eternity and I'd never be able to join them. All of this because of Sue. I'd missed our last year together while wrapped around her finger. I'll never get that time back. 

Marla didn't visit the Townhouse. I heard from Austin that she was doing worse than the three of us combined (which I would find hard to imagine except for that one time, I caught her looking him when we were at some stupid dinner. Her eyes. She looked at him like a painting in a museum. She touched his hand as if it were glass, as if he were the most precious thing. I knew she loved him more than I'd ever understand.) 

Marla is not my family. She is Sue's family. And Sue is not my family. So, Sue leaves for the Hampton House and I don't see her again for a very long time.

I found myself aching for her despite overflowing with grief; missing her body wrapped around me, safe in her presence. But Sue was not safe anymore and perhaps never was. Not with Death and my Father watching. Not with the way she just packed her things and _left me_. 

The next time I see her, we're in a conference room at the firm for a reading of assets. It seemed absurd, I _knew_ Death. 

He was wise, he was kind in his ruthlessness, he was fair. Death wasn't collated and double sided "sign here" post its. It all feels so ridiculous. 

"Emily, are you listening?" My uncle had asked. 

"Yeah. Okay." I can feel Sue's eyes on me. She's been staring since I entered the room but I haven't had any energy to meet them.

"Your share will be dispersed into your existing trust in the amount agreed upon. The estate will be split between Austin Dickinson, Lavinia Dickinson, Marla Dickinson-Sullivan, and Susan Gilbert." I was a little surprised. It's not as if I didn't expect Sue's name to appear in the will, I just didn't expect my Father to be so generous with his offerings. She looked stunning as always with a tailored navy pant and casually buttoned white blouse. Money doesn't matter anymore, let Sue have enough so she can finally leave. My uncle continues,

"You will receive 1/3rd ownership and lifetime vacancy rights for the Greenwich Townhouse. You will receive a fractional share in the Hampton Property, and you will receive the Roscoe property in its entirety." 

All the collective eyes in the room had turned to him. This was the first any of us had heard about another property. I know Roscoe as the place my Father had held his yearly fishing trips but nothing more than that. And so, after the meeting, I had approached my Uncle and asked about it. I received only a torn slip of paper with an address and a phone number, " _Renault._ " 

The day after, I'd rented a car with Lavinia and we drove. The moment I left the city, the grief had calmed, slightly. I could feel it usher a final hiss before relaxing at my feet. Still present but gentler. Lavinia spent the entire drive talking about memories from our childhood and how pleased she was that we had collectively agreed to retain the Rhode Island beach house. 

She planned to get married there since she was a child. Barefoot in the sand with a vibrant purple dress. This new boy she'd been seeing seemed promising. He was an EMT who worshipped the ground she walked on and was already saving for retirement. _"Emily, I swear. He's like obsessed with me. It's a little boring to be honest"_ , but her face had been shining when she said it. 

The deeper we drove into the mountains, the narrower the roads seemed to get. They transitioned from smooth asphalt to cracked gravel to what, at this point, could only be described as pathetic dirt. The GPS signaled us for an upcoming turn. The driveway itself must be half a mile long. We pass two run-down cabins on the way. It feels reassuring to know that at least this terrain is livable for others. Like, we weren't going to actually die here. A huge line of forest materializes directly ahead, causing me to slow down. There was a moment when we both saw nothing but trees and green and life and endlessness. Another planet, one that still remembers how to breathe. The car had continued to slow to a halt before Lavinia had gasped, " _Oh_ , Emily."

To our right, was a straight-up hovel. Well, that's a bit dramatic. It was a house, nestled in brambles and sagging with age. Peeling red clapboard shingles struggled to keep themselves attached. The roof was ash-gray and covered in decades of pine needles. 

We both had, hesitantly, left the safety of the car to investigate. There was an even more pathetic garage with two sides missing. The lumber, bleached by wind and rain, looked like rib bones on a weathered beast. The front steps seemed to crumble under our feet and I nearly dislocated my shoulder trying to muscle the front door open.

It was a shag horror-land. 70's era relic with linoleum everywhere. The dust dances in rays of sun through the large windows in the great room, hidden only for those slants of light that reveal it. You can taste it, chalky. A giant beam in the center of the room extends up both stories. A loft, unfinished and crowded with boxes. Two small bedrooms. A bathroom straight out of a Lifetime movie about a Craigslist killer. Suspicious holes in the wall with wire poking through, a kitchen light dangling from a thread. The entire house seemed to groan, " _put me out of my misery_ "

Lavinia gasps again as we fully enter through the kitchen, " _Oh, Emily_ " but a different tone. The entire back of the house-- all window. Yellow with grime but... breathtaking. On the other side a clear view to a sprawling lake, hidden by Ash trees from the road. 

Lavinia had turned to me, hesitant, 

"You could always sell. Lakefront, two bedroom. You could go to Europe", but it was clear that even she couldn't stomach that plan. This house was a masterpiece in a broken frame. 

"I want to keep it. I want to fix it"

\----------

_'Renault'_ is nothing I expected. He had pulled up in a baby-blue truck, rust creeping around the wheel wells, and immediately wrapped me in a hug. I was stiff at first before leaning into it more than I intended. No one had touched me like that, compassion without agenda, in a very long time. Everyone hugged with grief and pity. Renault hugged with joy. 

"Emily! Ah, Eddie talked of you so much. The smart one, the poet," he had exclaimed loudly. His voice with a lilt of a cajun accent.

"I don't know if I could be called a poet if no one has ever seen my writing", I had scoffed.

"Eyes, no eyes. What does it matter? A house is a house even if no one lives there", and with that he gestured to the crumbling mess I'd inherited before continuing, "Eddie loved this place. He always dreamed of rebuilding it.. the bones, they're good. But the inside, it is... _trying_." He emphasized _trying_. "I am so happy to see you here. You know, he had me look after it for the last few years. My brothers and I have a contracting company... we had planned, before, to help him restore her. But.. we could help you." He looked at the house with kindness, like it were a child on their first day of school. He looked with pride. 

"I'd like to start soon, if you're available. And I want to help."

"We can get started next week" and I realize that Renault doesn't know how out of character this is for me, to rebuild a house. That I could be anything for him, I could be anyone here.

\----------

Renault and his brothers, all ginger headed and broad shouldered, were surprised to see me show up on the first day of the build with a broken hammer I'd stumbled upon in the garage. My boots were pristine, brand new and betraying my eagerness. Unsure of what to do with me, he'd handed me a crowbar and sent me to exorcise the shag carpet that haunted the place. It was cathartic in a way, each nail I pried up felt like writing a poem. 

It felt like undoing something deep within myself. After the carpet, he'd (hesitantly) demonstrated the band saw and I started cutting boards for the new porch. His brothers-- Renee and Ricard, had laughed at my fumbling but soon grew to trust me with their tools. Their jokes began to include me. They called me " _little bird_ ", based on the way I picked at the breakfasts they generously supplied. 

And as I had watched the house start to come to life, to straighten up tall, something in me started to come to life again as well. 

I touched the boards like you'd touch art. I felt the swell of pride with each screw entered. First, we'd replaced the flooring with dark hardwood. Then, the sagging front porch with pressure treated pine. We'd spent absolute ages prying the red shingles and replacing them with black siding. The contrast between the raw pine and black was, admittedly, stunning. Lavinia had gasped when she saw the pictures. I decided to keep the ancient farm sink since Renault had gestured to it as if it were a diamond. 

"100 years old! Your father loved this sink, it's why he bought the property. He saw something in this place and it all started with this sink." He has a way of making everything sound like a fairy tale.

The vertical wood paneling in the great room put up a decent fight but even it eventually submitted to us. Horizontal cedar spread up the bare boards like ivy as we carefully fit them together. I drove up each weekend and felt a sense of excitement grow as I passed the dirt path. By the time I'd arrive at the house, I was nearly giddy. I hadn't felt "excitement" in months, the jittery feeling in your legs, the expanding in your stomach each mile you got closer. 

And each time I saw her change, this house, I changed with her. 

\----------

It was late autumn when I had been sitting in the Townhouse with my new roommates (Jane and Henry) when I saw the picture come up. Austin's instagram (Sue had deleted her account or, more likely, blocked me long ago.) 

He was smiling in front of some pier and draped on his arm-- the familiar brown waves, Sue. He had captioned it, "3 months strong!" 

Swallowing battery acid. My head swam, my mouth went dry. I threw my phone at the closest wall and sunk to the floor, trying not to hyperventilate. Jane had scooped me into her arms, face painted with concern, but she could never understand just how electric this betrayal burned in me. So I was _taboo_ but Austin was, what? Fair game? 

I didn't sleep all night. All I could see was Sue. Her arms, the little tendrils of hair that fell from her bun onto her neck. Sue laughing at a dumb joke I'd told. Sue swatting my hands as I reached for a french fry off her plate. And then Austin, how he must have looked when he kissed her. When he fucked her. I had thrown up at least once that night thinking of the two of them.

In the morning, I felt nothing except the desire for my house. It was a pull I could never describe in any combination of words. I'd never escape Sue while living in the mausoleum of our love. With a few quick emails to my professors letting them know I'd be attending virtually and texts to Jane and Henry explaining, I threw some clothes into a duffel and gotten into the car. As the stop lights started to grow less frequent, I was compelled to turn off an industrial New Jersey exit I'd only ventured to visit for emergency gas. Next to the station, a small building, " _Newark Animal Shelter._ " 

See, I wasn't afraid to live in the house alone, I wasn't afraid of anything anymore. But something had told me that this was the place I should be. Something told me that I needed to enter. Walking through the line of kennels, I was greeted by dozens of eyes looking up at me. Some bounded at the their cages, jumping high and barking. Some tags wagged low, haunches wiggling and begging for attention. 

When I got to his cage, he was cowering in the back corner. Staring down, unassuming, as if he could make himself disappear if he could become small enough. But damn, no one could call that dog ' _small_ '. The placard said, "Carlo, 2 years, unknown mix" and nothing else. The volunteer explained to me that they'd found him under a bridge searching empty bags for food. He'd been someone's dog at one point but, when discarded, grown terrified of people. Maybe he'd gotten too big and they just wanted something different. Maybe they'd actually taken the time to love him. To care for him. To gain his trust and then just... thrown him out with the trash.

The volunteer had told me, "He's not good with other dogs... or people really. I think, if you're looking for a companion dog, you should consider some of the retriever mixes. Maybe even a pitty" but as I'd looked at him, he chanced raising his eyes to meet mine. Chocolate, deep, curious, cautious. Anger. Longing. A little deer trapped in a giant body. Those eyes reminded me of another's and I knew at that moment he was mine. The entire process took less than 25 minutes and it was clear they were happy to be rid of him. He had greeted volunteers with a low growl. When they'd handed him over, they held the leash hesitantly like even touching an extension of Carlo was danger. They took my paperwork even more hesitantly, as if I'd change my mind. 

He didn't trust me as I hauled the complimentary crate into the back of my car and tried to coax him in. When he saw the bars, he started a low growl again. I realized that it wasn't people he feared, it was the cage. It probably wasn't smart to let him sit in the back-seat but I knew I could trust him. 

During the drive, I cracked the window and he pressed his nose against it. Just a mountain of thick, black fur. I wondered if Carlo had ever seen real trees before, his tail ventured a wag or two as he stared at all the green. I saw my first drive to the house through his eyes. 

As we pulled in, I clipped him onto a leash and he let me. It had taken all of 2 hours for him to transform into a new dog. That night he braved the staircase while I slept and curled up next to my bed. In the morning, I made a point of telling him;

"I know you can understand me, Carlo. I'd like to start this relationship on a good foot so... let's make a deal. Don't run away and I'll throw the cage away", before hauling that crate into the side yard for dramatic effect.

He had met my eyes fully at that point and, as I'd decided on him the day before, he decided on me. 

\---------

I'd never owned a dog before and didn't know that you were supposed to talk to them as if they were babies. When Renault and the boys had descended with the ' _puppy_!', ' _baby_ ', he'd scurried away with his tail between his legs. He didn't like men ( _ha, same_ ) but the boys won him over as they'd won me over. We began a strange dance, the five of us, that resembled family. 

I stopped using the leash while we worked. Despite the thud of his tail and low whines when he saw a deer, he kept his end of the bargain and never wandered. Just hung around the perimeter of the work site. 

The longer he was with me, the more we got to _see_ him. The real him. Goofy, gentle. A giant mush who chased butterflies but ran when they got too close, straight to my side, whimpering. Carlo would check on me every few minutes. We'd both raise our heads at the same time to lock eyes, ' _I'm okay_ ' I'd think and in response, ' _You're okay_ ' he'd think. Although he'd decided on me, I knew he was still worried that I'd disappear.

To be fair, I also worried I'd disappear at points but Carlo grounded me. There's no point in disappearing if you know beyond a doubt that someone would be looking for you. He even learned to swim which was not very graceful. On the last day that autumn protested with it's late heat, Renault and the boys peeled the sweat covered shirts off their backs and jumped into the lake. Carlo watched, cocked his head, before taking his own hesitant steps into the water. After that, he could hardly be kept from it. Despite the growing cold, he started each morning with a swim. I couldn't have stopped him if I'd tried. 

I was fairly certain, on the day of his first swim, that Carlo remembered how to be a dog. When he'd trotted back to the house, soaking and shaking his heavy fur, something was different. Like he'd left all of that fear behind in the water. I remember looking at him, looking at the boys swimming, and looking at the house before running into the lake myself. When I emerged, I think I left my anger too, floating on the surface like a leaf next to his fear. 

Both of us, lighter for it.

\--------

So it's the day of the storm and I'm chopping the last of our wood. We have more than enough for the winter but I make sure to leave a few cords on the porch for quick access if things go south (or rather, North. Get it? The cold. North is cold.) 

Carlo is digging at something next to the garage and I'm bringing the axe to the stump, over and over. At some point in the grief, I grew strong. My arms no longer screamed with soreness each morning. I grew to love chopping wood more than anything. It was the process of splitting something into more things. Creation, reincarnation. Breaking it down, still the same but different. 

The first few flakes are starting to fall as I take my sweatshirt off, the cool feels like heaven against my skin. 

Headlights advance down the path, crawling. Someone must be lost as they've already passed the last house next to mine, I expect them to pull in, usher a quick apology and turn back on their way. It's not Renault, I know he's in New Orleans for the winter. I plan to spend the next few months working on small solo projects until they get back and we begin to tear apart the other bedrooms. 

As the snow starts to fall a little harder, the car comes into my sight. It's some sort of compact, I'm not even sure how it made it down the path. I've been meaning to lay more gravel but I didn't want the house to get mad at me for turning her into something she's not. She's wild, I'd never try to tame her. The car idles in front of me, headlights making it impossible to see inside. I think, with horror, that it might be a lost traveler looking for accommodations. That simply won't do, I was planning on utilizing every second of this blizzard to get some much needed writing done.

Writing has been slow but steady. After taking my break, I'd come back full force. Letters to Death, berating him and his stupid suit. Hoping, secretly, I'd lure him out of the carriage to face me head on. The car door opens and I'm filled with dread. The familiar height, the familiar body. 

It's Sue. We make eye contact and Carlo beelines in her direction.

"Oh! You have a dog! Hiya _puppy_ " she leans down to scratch his head. 

"That's Carlo... he doesn't like baby talk." But of course Carlo is reveling in the attention. He makes exceptions for Sue as well. I can't help myself and it comes out more accusatory than I intended, "What are you doing here?" Sue shifts, foot to foot, and I catch her glancing up my own body. A mixture of grief-starvation and manual labor has changed me, surely. 

"I didn't know anyone was here... There's a storm hitting and I thought some quiet at a cabin might be nice. I'm sorry, I can go." But she's directly in front of me now and she's not making any effort to leave. Puffy jacket and eyes darting down, lips pursued, shoulders involuntarily shaking with the cold. 

I take a moment to consider the falling snow and her tiny car. There's a flash image of the compact sliding all over the road, I can see Sue's eyes wide with fear as the car fails to grip the asphalt. No. No. I don't like that image at all.

"It's probably not safe... I don't think that toy car would make it out of the driveway." We stand, facing each other for the first time. Even covered in sweat, smelling like earth, I can smell her lavender. She's searching my eyes, still, for some sort of approval. 

"Alright well.. come in? I've got to grab a shower anyway," I'm not overly kind. As we're crossing the threshold into the house, I catch Sue gently touching the pine porch. I feel a shiver, as if she was touching me. After all, I cut every single one of those boards with my sweat and fingerprints saturating them. I _am_ the new pine _and_ the old pine _and_ the sinking porch. 

"Emily, _wow_." She gasps as she fully takes in the sight of the house. I'll admit that it's barely recognizable at this point and know that she must have seen pictures from Lavinia. She has a way of screaming everything she does on social media. Even since her last visit, it's transformed a lot. I feel a swell of pride.

Sue continues, "Did you.. do this?"

"Yeah. Well, me and my friends" it's probably that moment that it hits, Renault and his brothers are more friends than employees. "Right there is the bathroom. We replaced the tile throughout leading to the foyer." The tile is terra cotta, small white lines running through it. It reminded me of Mexico and my Mom. I can't help but give Sue the full tour. "We've done the floors, the walls, the kitchen and the loft. Oh.. the bedrooms... I've been meaning to get to those. I hope you don't mind shag carpet."

Sue gives me a slight smile, "Shag sounds wonderful."

"Well it's not. It's pretty gross and the glue is a motherfucker to tear up. This place is still a work in progress," I gesture to the kitchen and the wood support beams of the unfinished island. There's a giant slab of Black Maple in the garage that I've been coating with linseed oil for the last few weeks in hopes that it'll be a live-edge countertop. We'd come across the old fell tree months ago while surveying the property and Renault convinced me to use it. I'll admit that I didn't see the use in it until he had planed it. The wood grain came alive... like muscles or veins. When did I turn into this person? Finding art in a piece of dead wood?

"It's stunning. Absolutely wonderful." She's beaming with pride and it both irks me and gives me a flutter in my stomach. Sue did nothing of this, I _am_ this house. I'd be lying if her approval didn't stir something up. 

"You can put your stuff down... I'm going to jump in the shower. Fire should be warm but if it gets cold, you can throw a log on." Now, Sue is capable but at that sentence I can sense hesitation. "Actually, it's fine, you might burn the place down. I'll throw it on now." Despite having my back turned as I swing open the old wood burner (another relic we chose to keep), I can feel her eyes crawling all over me. 

"I brought food... and snacks. Wine. Lots of wine." 

"I'm pretty stocked too. I live here", can't help but to take the small digs that I can, "I'm used to storms. I have weed, if you're interested. We don't even have to sneak by the cameras." 

"Really?" Her voice gets lower, nostalgic almost, "I haven't done that in ages."

"I'm thinking of growing it, actually."

"Isn't that illegal?"

"Super illegal... but I've got 60 acres and it sounds like it might be fun. In the spring, we're going to put gardens everywhere. Grow everything. Carlo likes carrots, maybe we'll get some chickens." Carlo thumps his tail in approval at the sound of his name and the word 'carrots.'

"That sounds like heaven." And Sue closes her eyes at that, relishing in the thought. It reminds me of her on my bedroom floor, holding my poems to her face. I can feel her imagining it and entering my fantasy as Sue often did. Touching the petals, reaching into my apple trees. I forgot how much taller I am compared to her. We both stand, unsure of what to do next, the air in the room heavy. 

"I should, _you know_ ," I gesture to the bathroom.

"Yeah, I should, _you know_ ," she gestures to her bags. Mocking me slightly, an olive branch extended. 

With that, I excuse myself to the bathroom and leave her to get unpacked

\----------

Sue has the wine open and poured by the time I come out pulling a shirt over my head. She's changed into something comfortable, sweat pants and an oversized sweater. Her hands barely poke out of the sleeves and she's curled into one of the big chairs I'd managed to haul here. She hands me a glass as I relax on the sectional (thankfully, we'd convinced the Fedex truck to make the journey down the road to deliver that one. Although it cost me an expensive bottle of whiskey and more money than I'd have liked.)

It's red and dry. I've never been overly fond of it but wine feels like the right choice. Matured. She sips her's and stares at me. I fix my own eyes on the big windows as the snow lazily makes it's way down. Big, wet flakes. Carlo, clearly finding Sue more interesting than me, is laying on the floor beside her.

"I can't get over how great this place looks."

"It wasn't easy.. but part of me needed to do it. After everything that happened." I dance around the subject, something about saying those words (I've gotten much better at it recently but, come on, it's _Sue_ ) feels like too much to ask of myself. I'm still reeling from her presence being in this house. _My_ house. The house I built and sculpted and put myself into. I think, perhaps, I've only truly loved three things in my life. Carlo, this house, and Sue. Speaking of Sue, she's biting her lip a bit.

"Yeah. You kind of disappeared there for awhile. Seeing you now, you look good." She can't stop herself from revealing a little more. "Really good, Emily. You look healthy.. that's all we've ever wanted for you."

I reach to refill my glass. _We_. Me, detached. This is going to be a long night.

"Disappeared is a word for it... So, how is Marla?" And with that, her faces lights up again. We launch ourselves into a discussion, carefully avoiding two topics: _1.) Austin 2.) Us_

\----------

The sun went down without either of us noticing. The only time we stopped talking was to drink more wine or throw a log into the fire. It was surprisingly easy and once or twice, I'd been transported back to the Townhouse. Before everything happened. Back when the dance was simple, avoidance and intimacy, over and over. 

"Oh I _absolutely_ remember that movie. God, it was terrible", Sue rubs her forehead, searching for the name before giving up. Her cheeks are rosy from the wine and we're both quickly shedding our inhibitions. Carefully avoiding the egg shells that seem to litter the floor. 

Sue continues, "I remember that time we watched it. But only made it half way through; I forget what happened but we had to stop." I can see the flash of recognition on Sue's face when she finally reaches the memory. We stopped because she had been playing with the edge of my shorts the entire time and I'd finally paused that terrible movie, thrown the remote across the room, and crawled into her lap. Her face blushes at the memory. 

"I remember that night."

"Yeah, me too... So, I need to ask. Any one special up here? Guys, _girls_?" She was in such a rush to change the subject that, in her infinite wisdom, she lands on one she'd been avoiding even harder. 

"Dating hasn't been on the forefront but.. I've managed" and it's truth. I've found a Tindr swipe here or there. Always going to their house, quickly shedding clothes ending in a relatively satisfying tryst. Never calling back, of course. Never inviting them over into my house. Something felt safe about the hook-ups in what they wanted from me. Expectations crystal clear. I knew my place with strangers. 

"How's Austin?" I'm feigning apathy but at the same time, it doesn't hurt as much as it used to. Sue seems surprised I'd openly acknowledge it. Granted it had been close to a year since we'd spent real time together; she doesn't know me anymore. She carefully takes a larger gulp of wine. Two bottles down. 

"Austin.. good, I think? We've, um, we're separated." 

"Separated. That sounds intense. Well, I hope you two manage to work it out", I throw out flippantly. Sue places her glass down at that moment. 

"I don't, actually. Austin and I aren't right together, this separation sort of solidified it for me. He wants... something. Something like me, but not me." I feel a pang of empathy for my brother. I know what it's like to lose her. 

"It's pretty hard to meet the real Sue. Maybe you didn't give him a chance?" I offer. The air between us starts to change. Tension revisited. I know I've hit some sort of nerve. She slams her glass down.

"Are you _really_ that daft?" Sue is incredulous. "Maybe you're right, I didn't show him the real me but no one wants to see that. They want the packaged version. Austin wanted the house and kids and perfect wife. And I just.. didn't."

"What _did_ you want, Sue?" We both know what I'm asking, unable to hide the edge that creeps into my voice.

"Jesus.. you really don't know", and her eyes are shining but it's not light. I can see the tears lining up behind them. This is getting far too serious, far too quickly. 

"I really don't know." To this day, I have no idea what Sue actually wants. She doesn't know either.

"I wanted you, Emily." I inhale sharply, surprised by the rawness of her words and the way her voice hitches. She keeps going, "and you disappeared. Austin was there and he was kind. And his smile sort of looked like yours so I did it. But he wasn't you and it didn't work _because_ he wasn't you." As much as I'd longed to hear those words, I'm angry now. How dare she try to pin this on me?

"That's bullshit, Sue. You didn't want me. You had me fully, over and over. You knew how I felt. I _used my words with you_. That night... I said it and you didn't." The dam is starting to burst, I know Sue doesn't respond well when people raise their voices but I can't help it. "And you never said any of it! You don't get to come in here and pretend I'm the reason you fucked my brother for, what, sympathy? You threw yourself into the first arms you saw and you survived, as you always do. You warned me when we first met and I deluded myself into trusting that I'd be different! _You_ read my poetry. _You_ pushed me away. I'm the one who said it!"

"Jesus, Emily. _After we fucked_?" There's a tiredness in her eyes I've never seen before.

"You know that wasn't fucking, Sue. _Goddamnit_ ", I slam my glass down too, harder than I intended, "You make me feel crazy sometimes! You make me feel insane. You can't come in here, to my safe place, and blame you dating Austin on _me_." 

"I know I messed up that night! But what was I supposed to do? Really, Emily. _What was I supposed to do?_ " And she's beginning to cry in earnest now. 

"Stay. You were supposed to stay with me while we figured it out. But you didn't give me that chance.. you shut me out. And then my Father fucking _died_ and you left to the Hamptons. I needed you and you left."

"Oh my god, Emily. You were catatonic _."_ The words hiss out of her. "You didn't acknowledge my presence. You didn't look at me, I'd try to touch you and you'd act like you were burned. Marla needed me, okay? You had Austin and Lavinia and Marla had no one. I had no one. You think it didn't affect me too?"

"No, actually! I don't think it affected you. You knew him for a year, I knew him forever. _Forever_ , Sue. Every moment I'd ever been alive. Do you know what that's like?" I can't stop the last sentence from coming out yet I know, the second I do, it's a mistake. Shit. Sue is an orphan. How do I keep forgetting that?

Her voice has gotten small once again. "It affected me. I lost Edward.. and I lost you. I lost my family all over again. The only people there for me were Austin and Marla. The only person I _wanted_ to take care of was you."

I look away, blinking tears out of my own eyes.

"You never said it. When I said it to you. You left me in that bed, thinking I made us up." Fuck, here it comes. I can't stop the sob that rises in my throat. And at that, Sue drops to her knees before crawling in front of me. She grabs both my hands in hers and looks up until I bring myself to meet her gaze. Her anger, immediately gone in the face of my pain. 

"You didn't make us up. We were real, the realest thing I've ever felt." She raises herself next to me and wraps me in a tight hug. We haven't hugged in so long. Her familiar warmth, Lavender, again. I return it before pulling away, sniffling. 

"I think I needed to hear that. God.. back then, that was so heavy", as if we didn't just have the gayest reconciliation ever. I leave my hand on her arm a few seconds longer than I needed to. It's not long until the heaviness in the room starts to dissipate and Sue fills her cup and tops mine off. 

"Wine makes my face feel hot. Also crying", I can't help but to giggle. Sue's face _has_ been getting increasingly more red throughout the night. We're both still shaking off the tears when she lifts her arms and sheds the sweater. She continues, "Are you still writing?"

"Always"

"I bet you've had enough material. Love poems about your latest conquest?" Her transition is too sudden. She's back on the topic of my apparent love interests, unprompted. 

"Not quite... grief is a starving fox, cornered. It'll consume nearly everything. And those conquests haven't exactly been earth shattering. Turns out, I'm apparently a strict top."

"A top? You? I don't know about that, Emily Dickinson."

"It's true. I'm a giver.. what can I say?"

"Interesting. I always thought of you more like a pillow princess," she states and I can't help but to playfully shove her away. She moves with the push but comes back even closer to me. 

"I am not a pillow princess. Here, I'll show you." I attempt to make my face as serious as I can, despite the wine. I stare at her directly and lower my voice a few octaves, "Come on baby. Take it."

"How could anyone resist that?", and it's not difficult to make our banter light, as if both of us had secretly been wishing for a chance to be kind again. "Here, let me try." Sue takes a moment to prepare herself, looks down, and when she looks back up at me, the familiarity hits me like a brick wall. All the air leaves my lungs, I feel light headed. Every bit of blood my body held, frozen.

"Get on your hands and knees and crawl to me."

 _Oh_. Oh, this. I can feel the muscles in my legs begin to move on instinct; my body returning to Sue, obedient. I have to press my knees down in fear they'd go to her without permission. I take a moment before responding.

"Yeah, that's good. That was... good." I let the breath I'd been holding out, it shakes. She breaks the eye contact.

"Emily, can I ask you something?"

"At this point, sure. Go ahead."

"Did you want to, just now, when I asked?"

And I don't know who kisses the other first and I don't care. All I do know is that, when we crash, I taste colors. Purple, loud. Blue is bright as a penny and melts on my tongue. It's too much and not enough at once. I don't know _how_ we get to the loft and I don't care, shedding clothes the entire way. She lets me take control and I savor it. Equals. Laying her onto the bed, the feel of her legs wrapping around my waist. She moans without abandon and I play the words over and over in my head-- " _Emily_ , yes." She reaches and entwines her fingers with mine. 

It's slow and it's gentle and it's so good. As she finishes, I slide back up her body to meet her eyes, I notice the tears trembling. Sue is biting her lip, trying to keep it back and I just wrap her tightly in my arms. She's attempting to speak and I know the words that would come out, I can see them struggle and surge. Words that can't be unsaid. Words that instantly change things, that tie her to me forever. Words that could ruin my family. And with that, I plant kisses over her face while the dam breaks. She's sobbing, pulling me closer as if she could absorb me into her. 

_"Shhh, don't say it. Don't say it."_

Eventually, she tires herself out with me running my fingers through her hair, soothing the words back inside her. 

\----------

We spend the weekend drinking wine, writing, and making love. Although I hate that phrase it's the only one that feels adequate to describe what we do. 

She takes Carlo out into the snow at a point and chases him around, and I think that this must be what domestic Sue looks like. He tries to jump but she fakes him out at the last moment so he trips over himself before scrambling up, bounding after her. This place is changing her as well, her steps don't feel heavy. Her smile comes out smoother, her chest doesn't contract so purposefully. I can imagine where the flecks of gray will eventually appear in her loose bun. I can see Sue, at 50, making coffee for us both. Sue, at Christmas, with a kid or two running around as she picks up discarded wrapping paper. 

It makes me sick with longing for a life we'll never lead. I catch her in the kitchen with her cellphone held low, likely responding to some text from Austin. She insists that they're separated but I'm not fully convinced it's true. Or lasting. I don't trust anything about Sue and there's where this bliss lives. The accepting of our fate, our dynamic. Living with the Specter but knowing that it never stays. So, with nothing to control, I don't question it. I enjoy the time we have.

On the last night, when she's laying in my arms, she whispers:

"Could we just freeze time right now? I want to stay here forever. With you."

"No one is making you leave, love."


	7. Repair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your positive affirmation comments are driving me to finish this last chap asap. for now, enjoy a lot of plot and feelings.

She doesn't cry when she packs her bags on Monday. She's cheerful, kisses Carlo on the head and my lips without abandon. Even as she's pulling away, I can feel it on me. In me. Whatever threads she left behind. I count down the minutes until she arrives back in the city. It's the ultimate litmus test to what this was, a last weekend, a reconciliation, a memory? Google maps tells me she should be walking to her door soon. Not the Townhouse, of course, the apartment she got with Austin. I wonder if he's still there, waiting for her. I wonder if he'll _feel_ me on her. 

And, while I'm contemplating it all, my phone buzzes to life. 2 new messages. The nostalgia of her name on the screen. Her last message, ages ago, reads: " _I'll be home soon_ " and I feel it straight in my bones. An eon has passed since ' _home_ ' was the same place, since I would wait for her key in the door like a dog for Master. 

**Sue, _5:02pm:_**

**I can't stop thinking**

**I wish I was inside of you right now**.

I ache at that. Another text comes in

**Can you feel it?**

I take the bait.

**Emily, _5:04pm:_**

**Always, what do I feel like?**

**Sue, _5:05pm_ :**

**Like silk, you're so warm.**

**I want to my mouth on you again.**

And thus starts a _particularly_ dirty text conversation. She's got a way with words. Pictures are exchanged and I feel powerful knowing they live in her phone now. Knowing I've touched something so close to her, again, even from hundreds of miles away. It quickly escalates to Facetime calls without pretense. I learn to put on a show that would rival any of Sue's past work. Sometimes, she looks at me as if seeing _hurts_ her. As if the longing is her hand over a flame and she chooses it. She touches the yellow part.

One evening, while I survey the damp basement and decide where to start with it, Sue texts again.

_**Sue, 6:43pm:** _

**I need you**

The whole thing suddenly seems ridiculous, this distance we've created. How we fall into the trap of torturing ourselves, whip licking our backs. There's no reason for it, this is a prison is our construction and control that we take turns locking each other in. 

**_Emily, 6:54pm:_ **

**Send me your address**

And then I'm driving back down the familiar roads into the city. Carlo sleeps in the backseat. Back to where it all happened, I don't feel the dread that used to come because I'm not Emily anymore. I'm something different, something stronger. The city held far too many ghosts for me but what happens when you're a ghost as well? It stops scaring you. The highway lights pulse over my car and it's hypnotic, yellow lines like a runway leading me home. 

I knock at the Townhouse even though I have a key. After being gone for months, I figure it's polite to give Henry and Jane a heads up. Henry nearly screams when he sees me. Jane is less outwardly enthused but I'm sure she's happy. Carlo bounds into the house and heads for the couch. I swear, that dog is narcoleptic. 

"Hey, I've actually got to be somewhere tonight. Can you watch Carlo for me?"

"Babysitting? I have _absolutely_ no time for that. I'm very busy", but Jane is already scratching his haunches and receiving all the kisses he can muster. 

"Be nice to Aunt Jane, C."

"Wait, you just got in. Where are you going?"

"To see Sue.. listen, I'm going to explain later. There's some stuff you don't know."

"Oh, _wow_. You know that you have a terrible lying face. I'm all for people taking what they want but isn't this like, a _really_ bad idea for you?" The voice of reason. Disinterested compassion, what would I do without her?

"I just have to, I have to."

With Sue's name glowing blue in my pocket, I grab my keys and leave.

\----------

Going to Sue's apartment feels the same as driving to my house does. Static in my legs, lead in my stomach. I'm taking the stairs, two at a time. The clock stands still while I wait for her to respond to my knocking. When she opens it, she's clutching a robe to herself. And.. when she takes that robe off, I freeze. Black lace and ribbon wrapping itself up her body. 

She pulls me inside by my shirt.

\----------

I'm carefully watching the expressions that cross her face at every thrust. When she gasps, I take the opportunity to meet her open mouth with mine. Tongue swiping over parted lips. I lean close to her ear,

"You're mine", thrust.

"Yours", Sue responds, voice hoarse. She can't stop herself as she approaches the peak, "I'm _yours_. Fuck, I'm _yours_."

The banging brings us both out of the rhythm of colliding bodies. 

Damn it. Neighbors, maybe? I'd been screaming loud enough earlier to warrant a welfare check, I'm sure. Sue groans with the sudden interruption, I could feel how close she was. I lay back waiting for her to return to me. _Mine_. She'd said it first. She offered it. She was mine. Sue is cinching her robe when we both hear the familiar voice through the door.

"Sue, come on. I know you're home. I just want to talk", Austin shouts, muffled. I sit straight up in bed. The color drains from Sue's face, her eyes grow wide. Tiny deer.

She turns to me with her hand on the door knob, "I don't know why he's here. Just.. ignore it", but I'm already looking for clothes to throw on. I feel sick. The moment is gone. Thousands of miles away. 

"Sue, please!" Austin continues. She looks back at me in bed as if trying to memorize the image. I can see the two sides of her fighting for control, she stares at me like I won't be there when she comes back. Holding the robe closer to herself, hand on the doorknob, heart breaking each second. But she still goes. I can hear Sue cracking the front door,

"Austin, this is a really bad time. We discussed you calling before you show up."

I can hear him push his way through and start to pace. Heavy footsteps, angry footsteps.

"No, I'm not calling first. My name is on this lease, Sue, and I'm tired of commuting from Long Island. This is my home and... I'm here to take it back." I don't know if even he believes the last words he speaks. 

"You need to leave now, Austin. I'm not doing this with you, we are not together." Sue's last words are hushed.

"Fuck that! You don't get to make these unilateral decisions." He's raising his voice now. I start to search her bedroom for places to hide. As horrible as I feel for Austin, I bite back anger at someone daring to speak to my Sue like that. Closet? That could work. Under the bed? Cliche. 

"I do get to make these decisions! I don't want this anymore. We just need different things. I care about you but I don't see the same future you do. When I close my eyes, I'm not in Amherst."

"We could go to Boston then! Look, I know you don't want to marry me _right now_ ", his voice growing softer again, nearly pleading. I had no idea they'd spoken about marriage. "But that could change in the future. I can wait, Pooh. We talked about the front porch, the kids."

"I... can't. Austin, when you talk about those things... I do love you." The last part, nearly dead silent for my benefit I'm sure. My ears ring. My stomach turns. "But it just wouldn't work. It's not that type of love."

I'm transported back into the Townhouse with Sue telling me, ' _you knew what this was._ ' We're back in the Hamptons with Sue clearing my father's plate, agreeing that english was a worthless degree. She's exactly who everyone wants her to be, all the time. An empty opera house. A mirror. 

"Wait, what are you wearing? Jesus, Sue. Are you naked under there?" Austin asks and I can hear Sue start to panic. "Wait, is someone here right now? Hey! Come on out, I know you're here. What are you doing, fucking my fiancé?" _Fiancé_. 

"Austin, this is completely unacceptable. You need to leave right now. _Please_ , please leave," she's begging in earnest.

He's stomping towards the bedroom, my pulse quickens. There's no way for me to hide fast enough, this is it. This is the end. Would he punch me? Would he just cry? I don't know which is worse. The doorknob rattles with his touch.

When we were younger, Austin knew I was terrified of spiders. Most brothers would take that as an opportunity. Most brothers would have gone to the barn, scooped the hairiest beast they could find, and thrown it in their sister's hair. But he never did. Austin stomped them as they crossed in my path. Austin hit Skip when he'd thrown my poems in the mud. He ran them under the hairdryer and presented them, yellow and curling, to me, ' _Don't cry, Em. I fixed it. It's all better._ '

"Austin. Get the fuck out right now. I asked you to leave. You need to respect it. It's... over." Sue's fully panicking but firm with him now. I know she's trying to salvage whatever is happening between us and I'd be lying if I said it didn't feel _kind of_ good to be her priority. 

"You told me, give you a month! You needed to figure things out. It's been a month and nothing? Now it's suddenly _over_. And you text me it! I'm done with this, I don't know what you want, Sue. You take people and you turn yourself into them and nothing is ever real with you. I want my ring back." He's a little gentler now, "But you can stay here for now."

Cool. They've only been broken up for a month. They were engaged. The first time she came to the house? A month ago. Almost to the day. The door slams closed as I'm buttoning my pants back up. Sue hesitantly enters the bedroom, looking like a kicked puppy. 

"Emily.. did you hear all of that?", she's hoping that I hadn't.

"Oh Susan, I certainly did."

"Please stop getting dressed. Just talk to me."

"Don't, just don't. A fucking _month_ , Sue? Tell me the truth. Before or after you drove upstate?"

"Emily, I swear. I didn't plan this. I didn't know he was coming. Please, don't leave. Just talk to me, we can figure this out." She's nearly on her knees now, grabbing at my legs. 

"Before or after, Sue?" I'm starting to feel desperate. I want her to tell me ' _after, Emily, I'd never do that to you_ ' but she would, wouldn't she? And why does Sue wear that mask with everyone else and never me? Why can it never be me that gets the version I want? She moves closer but I jerk away from her touch. "It's a simple question-- before or after?"

She just looks at me, eyes pleading and welling with tears. 

"Don't leave. Please, don't leave."

I'm already half way to the door.

"I'm in love with you." 

The words stop me dead. She continues, "I'm so in love with you, Emily. I've been in love with you so long that I don't remember what I feel like without it. Without you eating me up inside. It's so heavy and I have to carry it around. It hurts, you know that? It hurts to pretend I don't feel it every single day. You reach inside of me and you twist everything around and I don't know what to do. And I tried so hard to make it stop and it only got bigger. I told you that I survive when we first met and... I thought that shunning you was the way to do it, hiding you away, but it's killing me. I can't survive holding this. It's killing me. I love you. I'm _in love_ with you."

I take a deep breath. I'd wanted to hear those words for so long. And yet, they don't taste the way I thought they would.

"But it's not enough, is it?"

"No! It _is_ enough. These weeks, it's enough this time. I'm yours. I'm so _utterly_ , _completely_ yours. I only want you."

"You in the dark isn't enough for me anymore. I was in your bed and he was inches away and you didn't tell him. You're ashamed of me."

"I'm ashamed of how weak you make me but I'm not ashamed to love you. I'll fucking scream it right now, Emily. Just don't leave because if you do, I know you won't come back."

"Then scream it."

"Wait, really?"

"Go scream it right now."

In response, she crosses the room and flings the window wide open, screams into the New York skyline, dotted with lights. 

_"I love Emily Dickinson! I'm in love with Emily Dickinson!"_

I need a moment to process and choose her couch to do so. My mind is begging me to leave but I can't bring myself to. I think of Jane, asking if this was a good idea. I still can't decide. And, as Sue is shutting the window, we hear another knock at the door.

"Sue? What's going on?" Austin shouts. 

\----------

We're trapped. There's one door in, one door out and Austin is currently pounding on it. I consider the ramifications of jumping from the 17th floor. Like, I'd _probably_ die. But if I didn't, how bad would it actually be? Is it worth it to avoid the look he'd give me? Austin, killing the spiders.

He's screaming some nonsense but abruptly stops when we hear another door in the hall open, 

_"I'm calling the cops, dude. You need to get out of here and leave the girl alone!"_

_"She's fucking my sister." Austin shoots back, hysterical._

_"Oh shiiiiiiit. Alright. I'm.. sorry, man. I'll let you... get back to that. Damn."_

Sue, realizing that the police would only lead to more trouble, lets him in. He can't even muster any surprise to see me and sits heavily on the coach. 

"How long has this been going on?" Directed only to me. Sue is hovering by the window clearly considering the jump as well. Old Emily would have created an elaborate ruse, would have reached down and spun a story just believable enough. But Old Emily is gone now. 

"Two weeks after we met, maybe? We... took _breaks_." I word it carefully, plucking the ones that would hurt the least.

"The whole time? You're supposed to be in Vermont or something. Lavinia told me you were full-on mountain woman."

"First, it's the Catskills. I came back.. for Sue."

"Wait, Sue.. when you went to see your friend... were you?" He's rounding on her now, she can't meet his eyes. It's always taken Austin a little longer to understand. Sure, he's quick, but things take awhile to sink in. It's charming, really, except when you're destroying his life and have to explain it throughly. I take on the conversation for her.

"At my house? She was." 

"And did you..?"

"Fuck? We did."

"And you've.. you know.. the whole time?"

"It's pretty much the only thing we've done."

Her face is in her hands. I don't leave Austin's eyes and he doesn't leave mine. I've never seen such a look of hopelessness, shock, despair on him. There's no trace of anger towards me. Just... sadness. Austin realizing the world isn't fair for the first time. Austin realizing, you can give a relationship everything and still not have it work. 

Sue and I, on the other hand, have tried everything to not have this work and failed spectacularly each time. Ancient friends. Soulmates. Although she had just betrayed me, once again, the failure doesn't hurt. We've surpassed expectations, instead surrendered to acceptance. I know what she is. She knows what I am. I can't be mad at that. 

Sue joins us and we're three broken, stupid people. Sitting on a coach together.

"Austin, it's always been her. I think I wanted the things you were promising me so much. I wanted what you represented," Sue finally speaks.

"Glad to be a fucking representation to you, Sue, and not a person."

"But you _are_ a person, don't you see? That's why it didn't work. I tried but... it's her. It's _always_ been her. I thought you'd all kick me out of your lives if you knew and by the time that it didn't matter, he died. And that was all that mattered. She was already gone so I thought... I could make this work", Sue is stumbling, she's throwing her words out quickly like embers in her mouth. 

"You cheated on me, Sue," He says, just sadness.

"I did."

"So it's over."

"It is."

"And I have to let you go?"

"And you have to let me go."

I'm not sure how much time passes with us, all sitting in our wallowing. Sue steals glances at me and I don't return them. At some point, Austin stands up and clears his throat.

"Emily. Can we go for a walk?"

I'm pretty certain he's not about to throw my body in the East River, but one can never be too sure. Regardless, I follow him out of the door, into the hallway, and onto the street. I could have sworn I heard a choked sob from Sue whom we left upstairs to think about her actions.

"I thought you'd be madder at me."

"I did too. I'm not mad _at you_... I'm just fucking sad, man." He kicks a rock off the street, hands in his pockets. "I didn't see this coming."

"Well, were you looking for it?"

"Fair point. I don't know. I knew you were weirdly close and I knew she cried about you all the time."

"I cried about her too."

"If you two make each other cry so much, why are you together?"

"Being with Sue is like poetry. You only know it's worth something if you _really_ feel it. And those feelings don't have to be good, they just have to be strong."

"Is this going to be a thing? Like are you going to date? Or just hook up?"

"I don't know" and I truthfully don't. I haven't thought that far ahead. 

"God, Christmas is going to be so weird," he half smiles.

"It really is", I laugh. It's reassuring to know he still has some sort of wit left in him. 

"Are you still coming to it?"

"I don't know" I say and we both read the subtext. The first Christmas without Father. "Where would it even be?"

"He used to plan that stuff. Lavinia is coming into town next week." He shrugs, hands still firmly in his pockets but shoulders relaxed. 

When Austin was young, he'd get so angry at the smallest things. There was this vein in his forehead that would pulse, face all red. It was scary to me; I was always worried that one day I'd break his toy and his head would explode and I didn't want him to die. Fiercely, I mean literal nights spent hoping he wouldn't die. I think Mom was worried about it too and took him to a Doctor who taught him to carry it in his shoulders. From then on, when Austin got overwhelmed, he'd hunch them with hands in pockets. Muscles stiff, clenching, trying to trap all the rage inside. 

"What if you all came to my house?" I'm internally kicking myself for offering it. The house wasn't nearly finished enough to accommodate two guests. Scratch that, three guests. It wasn't a question if Sue would be there, I feel as though Sue will be everywhere that I am now, forever. It's not a choice, it just seems inevitable. There's no use fighting against the waves anymore. If it means I can stop gasping for air then I choose ' _drown_ '. Even if it's just as friends, crawling into each other's beds in shame, for all of time. 

Austin nods, "A cabin. Yeah, that might be nice. I can get some nature in. Will you let Lavinia and Mom know?"

I stand, shocked, attempting to process that my mother will be coming. She'd only briefly visited for the funeral and her calls had been less frequent. I had no idea that she'd be willing to travel here. Although I have reservations, it seems logical that family would be together for the holidays. And Sue. She's included in family. I make a mental note to compile the text. 

"And Marla, of course," and before I have the chance to protest, he continues, "She's a part of us now too and she's alone. I'm.. assuming Sue will be attending." He rolls his eyes and I catch a flash of the hurt still behind them. He continues, "Wait, I was wondering. Does my en-suite have a shower? I'd _really_ prefer a tub but I understand. How's the water pressure? Wait, does it have electricity?"

"Austin, do you really think I'd have multiple, full bathrooms _before_ electricity?"

"Well! I don't know, I've never been to Vermont," he bumps his shoulder into mine as a gesture of comfort.

"It's the Catskill's. Please don't drive to Vermont. I'm sort of worried you might drive to Vermont."

"I know where it is, Emily. I'm _joking_ with you."

"I'm just glad you aren't disposing of my body."

"Don't get me wrong, I'm going to go home later, paint your face onto my wall and then punch it. But I can't be mad at you, Sue never felt like mine and I think I knew it all along."

"I think she's mine." 

"Yeah, I think she's your's too", he sighs, dejected but accepting. "So is... is my bed a king or a queen?"

"You've really never been to my house before."

\------------

Sue is genuinely surprised when I knock on her door again, having safely put Austin in a cab. She didn't think I'd return after our conversation. She thought that I would disappear and, in the past, I would have. Her surprise quickly turns to joy.

"You came back."

"I came back." I say, and then as quickly, "I know who you really are, Sue. I've seen you for so long. What you did was... terrible. Just, don't do that shit. When you feel yourself start to pull away and put the mask on, just stop. You can't with me or this won't work."

She gives a short laugh, "It already doesn't work."

"I know but I don't think we have a choice anymore. I'm tired of our love hurting. I'm tired of pretending that I don't need you every second of the day. Pretending my life isn't a burning church."

"I love you. You're so dramatic." She can't stop saying it now. 

"Besides, I might have done something wrong."

"Emily..." she makes her voice gravely, warning. "What did you do?"

"Invited you, Lavinia, Austin, my Mom, and Marla to Christmas at my house."

" _Emily_ ", she gasps, "Six people? You don't even have the bedrooms finished! It smells like angry socks in there!" 

"That's why I'm going to need your help."


	8. Release

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for taking this journey with me.

Sue stands, hammer in hand, looking overwhelmingly overwhelmed.

When I'd gone back to the Townhouse that night after Austin, she accompanied me. However, facing the door together, her hand had gripped mine so tight, a request, an apology. There were too many memories in this place. Before we entered, she had whispered:

_"I'm sorry for fighting you so long. I wasted so much time."_

_"It wasn't a waste for me."_

_"Me either."_

Jane wasn't surprised to see Sue, just gave her a half hug and a warning glare at me over her shoulder. We slept together in my room that night, so familiar yet so strange. Like visiting your high school again after many years, comparing the nostalgia to reality. That light used to be _so_ much bigger. That screw in the ceiling tile, where I'd stare and bite my lip to stop the love from spilling out. All the time we hadn't known to cherish, hadn't known how sweetbitter it would pool in our mouths. I couldn't pick out which parts I would carry with me. The imprint of Sue's scrunchie on her wrist while she held my hand against my chest. The sound of the birds on the windowsill when I woke before her. The wounds we carry, not knowing the shape of the eventual scar. A whisper of a dream. 

We hadn't discussed whether she'd be coming back upstate with me. It was obvious at that point. She'd be where I was and I to her, always. There is something incredibly comforting about acceptance. Those bodies in the lake, drinking their last breaths. Those bodies in the snow, stripping the rest of their clothes. I'd always attributed it to desperate survival madness and never considered that the madness might have been joy. To accept. To be free from mortality. Maybe madness is just joy in a different language. 

So here we are, Sue with her hammer and me with my own, staring down the garbage pits of bedrooms we needed to fix. Within a week. Together. Somehow. 

"Em, I don't think I'm doing this right," and she wasn't. She held the pry bar to the wood paneling at its center, willing it to give way. 

"No, you have to do it from the glue line. See there? The glue is stronger at that point but you've got more leverage." I run my hand over her's and guide her to the seam. She's cute when her confusion isn't draped with pain. I wonder if touching Sue will ever grow old. She hooks her hammer and applies pressure, the corner of the board immediately snapping off.

"See? I'm no good at this. We can't finish in time. What if we all just got a hotel instead?"

"A hotel so you don't have to share a room with Austin?"

None of the family knew about Austin and Sue's break up and _definitely_ didn't know about our reunion. They had planned to announce the separation at Christmas but Austin was already dragging his feet. ' _It makes me look like a fool, Sue. Just let me have this for a few more months. You both owe me this.'_ And so she had agreed. 

"It's not that. I just.. don't want them here. I don't want them to ruin _here_." She mutters and I know her bond to this land was growing as quickly as mine had. Out of all the houses Sue had lived in, she had never actually lived in any of them. Someone else with her face, throwing the mask up each doorway she had passed through. I press a quick kiss to her forehead in response.

"Hotels are expensive."

"You can afford it."

"So can you, moneybags." I say as she playfully returns the kiss to my cheek.

"That's true, I'm a kept woman now. No need to budget or work even. I could just hide here, with you, forever." 

"You haven't worked? Or.. made videos?" I stall, faced away from her. Hesitant. 

"No." She sinks to the floor and looks up at me. Eyes searching under delicate eyelashes. "At first I was just too busy. And then I was too sad. And then... I just didn't feel the urge. I don't need people to see me to know that I exist."

I don't react much because, truthfully, I had never minded. The idea of Sue doing what she needed to survive was comforting in its reliability. It gave me the only power I had. When Moses had seen the burning bush and asked his god, _'How should I name you to the others?'_ , God had answered, ' _I am that I am_.' Later translations would claim, ' _I will become what I will become._ ' They believed that to name something was to own it... and surely creation could never be owned. I did not name Sue. She had given herself to me, a communion pressed on my waiting tongue, but I did not own her. 

Perhaps that's what love is-- sacrificing all power. Gently laying your head into the guillotine, not knowing the name of whose heaven you're about to enter. 

"I'd suggest a career change to contractor but you're really, really bad at this."

"I have my uses elsewhere," she retorts, while reaching her hands out so I can pull her to her feet. She brushes the dust off her overalls. 

"Really? I think I've forgotten those. I might need a reminder."

Clearly, we don't get any work done after that.

\----------

"Em?" Sue's voice barely rings out against the roaring wind. We had been laying in twilight sleep, in haze between night and morning, between consciousness and whatever else comes to claim souls when it passes.

"Mm?" I manage to murmur a response.

"Remember the Townhouse, when you got scared of how quiet it was?" Eyelashes fluttering against my collarbone. 

"Mhm."

"Do you ever feel that here?"

"Mmm.." I have to find my voice now, despite how late it is, "No. Not here."

She leans up and faces me. "But do you get ever scared here? I mean, you have to at some point, right?"

"I guess so. Oh, once. There was this giant moth," I start and she curls closer into my body, settling herself for the story. "It was the size of a football."

"A football? Come on, be serious." 

"No, seriously. So this moth is trying to get to the light inside and it's just throwing itself against the windowpane. Over and over. It sounded exactly like a knock. I'm here alone and Carlo isn't even barking and there's this loud, rhythmic knocking. _Bam. Bam. Bam_."

She squeals and covers her own eyes, "Ew, okay. That's so creepy. If I ever see that moth, I'm making you kill him."

"You think you'll see him? He usually shows up in the Spring."

"Then I'll see him eventually, right?"

The knowing. The question I'd been keeping tucked under my tongue in fear that the answer might be too sour to bear. I have changed so much under Sue's hands, I wouldn't survive another crucible. I had hoped she'd stay but I've grown wise enough to never ask her to. 

"Sue, what do you want?" We're both in the moonlight, fully baptized awake.

"I want chickens. In the side yard."

"Then we can have chickens," it feels reasonable. I continue, "what's your favorite part about me?" 

"Your body, of course. Purely physical." She manages to roll herself onto me, sitting up and staring down. Both hands gliding up my stomach and settling near my ribs. 

"Shut up. You know what I mean."

"Your body," Sue repeats again, slower. With that, she begins to straighten her fingertips still brushed against my skin. We're alone but she makes a point to quiet her voice as if revealing a secret. "It tells me things when you don't." Pressing a chaste kiss to my rib cage. "Can you hear it?"

It's starting to tickle, perhaps, or burn. Either way, her lips against me begin a motion that neither of us would dare fight. "What's it saying now?"

"Shh. What's that, body? You want me to do _what_?" She's moving her head further down without affording an inch between lips and skin. 

"Sue, _please_."

"Promise me that you'll kill the moth first." 

\----------

Neither of us are ready when the doorbell rings and Lavinia bursts in, two bottles of expensive vodka under her arms. I'm grateful she came well stocked for the week. Lord knows I'll need several drinks before this is all over. 

"Am I first here? No way. Fierce. Let's do an 'arrival' shot, you first", Lavinia rapid fires her words but stops when she sees Sue poke her head out from the kitchen. A look of confusion, "Sue? You're here already? Where's Austin?" 

You'd have thought that we would have prepared for questions. We had, somewhat. Studying lines in bed with the fire smoldering underneath us. We had backstories, alibis, and they had fogged the windows with our breath but, in the early dawn, faded away. The things you don't need have a way of disappearing, it's very difficult to be false here. 

"He's bringing your Mom from the airport. I, uh, came early to prepare" Sue answers too quickly before weakly gesturing to the table which contains a single jar of salsa and an open bag of chips. 

"Okay. Effort. Great. I'm into it." Lavinia doesn't question further but decides to focus on what's important and attempts to open one of the bottles. "Are we all partaking? I'll be honest, I'm nervous to see Mom. Isn't that weird? I mean, I see her facebook photos but I'm not about to comment on her belly-button ring, you know? It just feels like a line we shouldn't cross." She stops rambling long enough to down her shot directly from the bottle before handing it to me. "Now, _where_ is my nephew? I love him. I need his energy right now."

"He's out back, probably crying about the porcupine that's moved in. He really hates that thing."

Lavinia squeals and heads for the porch, ' _Emily! Maybe they're in love!_ ', leaving Sue and I alone. I take the opportunity to grab a swig of the bottle. 

"Do you think Carlo is in love with the porcupine?" I ask before going for a second drag. 

"Slow down, we've got a long night and I need you clear headed, baby." Sue touches my arm, guiding the bottle away. I don't think I'll ever get tired of hearing that word. 

"I love you." I press my forehead against hers. "Do you know that?"

"I love you too."

\----------

Lavinia doesn't seem to mind the sleeping arrangements but probably because she's in the loft with me. A sizable king bed, if only she knew the things it had seen. Austin and Sue would be in one bedroom, Marla in the other. My mom could have the couch for all I cared. She can crawl under the porch with Carlo's porcupine. Lavinia calls out to me from the great room,

"You couldn't have atleast decorated?"

"There's a tree down there!"

"I know you're like _Emily of the Wilderness_ now but this tree is so sad. Where did you even get it?"

"I don't know, nature? Sue and I found it", I yell back down from the loft. The pause from Lavinia is apparent before I realize what I've said.

"Wait, when did Sue even get here? When did you walk?"

I scramble to save it, "Oh, in the morning. She arrived and then we... took a walk."

Lavinia doesn't seem satisfied with the answer but leaves it, "Weird. I thought you two hated each other. You had some fight and then you ran away to the mountains."

"We made up." 

"Good. I need my girls this weekend. Lawrence has been acting so strange lately. He keeps trying to get me to go to his church. Like, he said he doesn't care that I'm pretty sure I'm agnostic or maybe just a spiritualist? But he wants me to meet his pastor?"

"Lavinia, you know what that is, right? There's only one reason he'd want you to meet his pastor."

"Oh, _is it a sex thing_?" Her voice sounds disappointed but not completely dismayed. 

"No, idiot, he's religious. You aren't. If you were to get married... you'd have to get baptized."

It's clear the thought had never crossed her mind. Her eyes get wide; her mouth hangs open, stuck on the words. 

"I need a drink." Before I can answer her, we hear the telltale sound of gravel crunching outside and I walk out to face my gallows.

Marla hesitantly closes the car door, it's gentle, as she is with most things. She's carrying two bags of groceries that visibly overfill with green, looks like our meal will be vegan this year. Before meeting my Father, she had been a popular organic chef and a good one, people instagrammed pictures of her food on rocks and stuff. I'm sure it tastes like sawdust but at least I'll get more vitamins than I've had in the last year. 

Sue runs out to meet her, it's heart warming. They both look genuinely joyful to see each other. Marla, with that jade pendant and her vegetables, unsure if she's welcome in this family anymore. A surge of empathy. _Of course_ she's welcome and then another, stronger surge of guilt. I'd been terrible to her in the past. Without hesitation, I run towards them both and join the hug. They're both surprised by it but quickly return the love. 

"Emily! I..." Marla tries to start. 

"I'm glad you're here." I stop her. 

\----------

It's late afternoon when Austin and my Mom arrive, greeted by Carlo's thunder-bark which is reserved specifically for people I don't enjoy. He can always tell. Austin flinches when Carlo bounds towards them but my Mom scratches his head like an old friend. Useless guard dog. She looks nothing like I remember. Skin leathered and tan, hair bleached nearly white from the sun. There's a string of beads braided into it and each time she moves, they jingle together. 

"My children! Come closer and give me a hug. Lavinia, you look _so_ thin," she takes Lavinia's face into her hands, admiring her. "Emily, this place turned out fantastic!" She goes to take my face as well but I can't help but pull back. She doesn't miss a beat and rounds on Sue instead. "Susan, nice to see you again, dear." Kisses both cheeks. Is it still a mask if someone truly believes it to be their face?

Austin hugs me, squeezing my bicep too tight in warning, before awkwardly embracing Sue. Sue mimes kissing his cheek and meets my eyes in an apology. When I see his hands on her, my vision briefly turns white, then red, then to some sort of burnt haze. I have suffered too much for jealousy to be my downfall, it's the weakest of all desires. Easily pliable with pressure, I fought against human nature itself to be with Sue. I wasn't going to bend to jealousy alone. 

Austin whispers only to me, through clenched teeth, " _If you mess this up, I'm going to kill you_."

" _Finally someone in this family will_."

\----------

If anyone is unsatisfied with their accommodations they don't say it to me which I'm grateful for. I don't think I could handle the criticism, my ego feels especially fragile. People are fully here. In my stuff, in my space. Sue had the brilliant idea to lay a piece of plywood over my beautiful countertop to _"preserve it"_ , which has resulted in 14 slivers in Lavinia (and counting.) The ancient string of lights we found in the garage nearly set the tree on fire and caused a fuse to blow, Austin had actually screamed when the lights dimmed. Marla had attempted a healing circle with my Mom already, to no avail, and my Mom made a sizable dent in Lavinia's vodka. 

And then there was Sue. 

I didn't understand how difficult it would be to not touch her, especially now that we'd given ourselves over to it completely. I'd like to think I've been a good actor. When Sue dropped her glass, I didn't run to check if she was hurt. When she took her nightly walk, I stayed seated on the couch, legs itching to join her. Not having a second to ourselves has been sexually frustrating in the least, emotionally devastating at the worst. 

We were supposed to be enjoying the honeymoon phase. We were supposed to be fucking wildly, constantly, with no abandon. Before they'd come, Sue had stayed in bed with me longer that morning. It was foggy, the water like glass, the loons gently calling out. Everything, awakening around us. She'd ghosted her fingertip over my arm and watched the hairs rise to meet her. Watched how my body seemed to recalibrate when she was near. My mind was calm, we both felt light. _We were happy_.

My family has ruined that. They're seated in the great room arguing about the rules to "Uno" more than anyone should. 

"Austin! You can't do that, you can't save that card for last," Lavinia shouts. 

"Yes I can! That's the point of the game. It's a tactic, it's how you win every time!" Austin shouts back, matching her vigor. Every time Austin raises his voice, Carlo responds with a single loud ' _bark_ ', keeping him in line. 

"Why are we even playing if you're going to cheat, then?" 

"It's not cheating! I'm not a cheater." I swear I see him glance at Sue, who withdraws slightly at the words. He continues, "Who even decided to play this dumb game?" before throwing his cards down and crossing his arms over his chest.

Marla takes her chance and stands, "Maybe we can all take a few minutes to breathe? I think I'm going to go take a walk and then get started on dinner. How does that sound?" She speaks to us all like pent-up Kindergartner's right before recess while she pulls her own coat on.

"Sue, can I see you in the other room?" Austin's leg is still bouncing, clearly fired up from the uno debacle. Sue nods before rising and silently entering the smaller bedroom with him close behind. The door's latch echoes, the sudden lack of her. I don't like this visual. Austin, with anger, closing Sue away. I don't like this at all. 

Lavinia, my Mom, and I all remain in the great room, unsure of what comes next. The voices behind their door are hushed but heavy. Each mumble that I attribute to Sue picks one of my heartstrings and _plucks_ , the tinge of pain. There is fear, surely, which is well earned. We haven't discussed labels and I don't imagine that we ever will. I am that I am, we will become what we will become. Still, one can trust the insignificance of their own desire in the overwhelming schism of fate and still be worried that their brother might try to kiss their girlfriend. Based on the sounds that now scuffle past the doorframe, I don't think I have to worry about that. 

"I'm going to take Carlo outside, uh. See you later," I rise. Lavinia motions to join me but is interrupted by an incoming call. Instead, my mother rises to follow me. Great. 

Carlo is bounding in the snow, stopping to roll and then snorting himself back into a sprint. I'm leaning against the porch railing with Mom next to me, both watching him. I notice that her coat is thin and she keeps readjusting her arms for warmth.

"Not the weather you're used to?" I ask, not fully invested in her answer. Sometimes, I think I'm just an angry human. I've got this rage inside me that jumps from person to person, never escaping, never dissipating. For so long, I had thrust it onto Sue and made her the enemy because it had to all go _somewhere_. However, now there's someone directly next to me who deserves it all the more. 

"God, no. I forgot how cold is it here." 

"Yeah, it's not your _island paradise_."

She bites her bottom lip, carefully considering her next words. "Emily, did I do something to you?"

I laugh, harshly. "Ha, no. You haven't done anything to me, Mother. Nothing at all."

"See, that's the thing. It feels like you _might_ be angry with me for something and I don't know what it is. You've been distant since I arrived. I know you, Emily Dickinson. You sneak around when something's wrong." She tries to smile.

"You don't know me, I'm not 8 anymore, we're not in the Sandals resort. I'm not.. sneaking," I can't help but keep going now that I've started, "How dare you say that you know me? How about this-- where were you? When Father died. Where were you?"

"Edward and I had a... very complicated relationship and I don't think it's fair of you to say that I wasn't there. I came back. You were dealing with a lot--"

"For the funeral, sure. And then you disappeared again. I don't get it. You were always so present. Both Father and you were always there for us... and then everyone disappeared at the same time."

"No, that's not true." She answers and I'm caught off guard. I didn't think she was in the position to deny my emotional outburst. "I was exactly as present as I'd always been, Emily, not at all. You do this, you know. You decide what people should be and then you hold them to that version of themselves. Whenever they don't live up to that idealized person, you get mad. You hate them for not being what you want. You create all these realities, all the time," she turns to me fully now, forcing me to meet her eyes. "It's what makes you such a beautiful writer. You have so many things in that head and I love you for it but you're wrong. That childhood didn't exist."

I start to pull back, prepared to respond, but she catches me before I have a chance too.

"I wasn't around when you were younger. Sure, I was home but I was drunk. Or crying. We had Nannys and staff to help out. I didn't bake cookies with you, I was too busy getting a Private Investgator to trail your Father and whatever woman he had with him. He wasn't a saint either. We let all of you down."

I take a moment to steel myself. I want to scream at her. I want to tear her apart with my words for trying to undo my childhood. For daring speak badly about the man who had carefully crafted my life. He had given everything to our futures. 

"Do you remember the Girl Scouts?" She allows me a moment. 

"What? No... well, sort of. Lavinia and I were in them for a little bit."

"And why did we stop going?"

"I don't remember. We just stopped."

"That's not true, Emily. You remember. Think about it."

_Lavinia is next to me in the backseat, her braids trail down her shoulders and onto her brown sash. She's so small but her eyes are still so wide. There's rain on the_ _windshield_ _and the dots paint prisms under the street lights. My hand is in hers and I remember how her fingernails were sharp but I didn't stop squeezing her. We're scared and I don't know why. Mom is in the front seat, hanging out the window and screaming something at someone. No, not someone. It's a woman. The rain prism falls highlights a green stone around her neck. I want to leave and get McDonalds like we were promised but Mom_ _won't_ _stop shrieking. Lavinia is scared, I let her press those sharp_ _crescent_ _nails into my palm. The woman on the street tries to walk away and I see that she's holding the hand of another small girl. Brown hair carefully bound in a ponytail. There's a freckle on her neck. The woman is trying to_ _shield_ _her and Mom is so, so angry._

"You got into a fight with someone... so we couldn't go anymore."

"What really happened, Emily? Come on, you know."

_Mom is desperately trying to claw at her seatbelt and lunging. The mascara has streaked down her eyes, perfect rivers of black soot and salt traveling down her face. A single speck of it pools on her jawbone, trembling. I can hear it now. 'He's my husband'. The woman is backing away quickly, dragging the girl with her further in to the parking lot. Mom slams her fist on the steering wheel and then begins pounding them both on the dash, 'Goddamnit Edward, goddamnit'._ _She's_ _howling to no one, to us. To anyone who can hear._

"He was sleeping with the Troop Leader." 

Mom sighs with the heaviness of the memory. "Not one of my finest moments."

"But wait," the gears churning in my mind, going into hyperdrive. "Marla..."

Mom leans forward on the railing again. There's something overwhelmingly human in her eyes. She just looks tired.

"She loved him for so long. God knows I tried to make her stop. I tried to make him stop. They met when he designed her first restaurant and I _knew_ , from the start." She shakes her head and her brow narrows, "He would say it was over and then I'd find an area code on the phone bill. He'd share our bank statements and then I'd find a new card, hidden in his wallet behind pictures of you three. Can you imagine? Hiding it behind pictures of his children. No matter how great of a wife I'd try to be, he'd go back to her. I never wanted you all to think of him like that."

"You stayed with him?"

"At first because I thought I could change him. After awhile, I stayed because I knew I couldn't and I didn't want you all to see him like that. We decided, together, that we'd wait until Lavinia entered college." 

"And you never loved him?" My voice is small now. It comes out scared, from the backseat. 

"Oh, Emily. I loved him so much that I hated him. For not being perfect to you three, you deserved perfect. You and I are alike, we both imagine people into what we want."

"You stayed with him in a marriage that killed you for 23 years?" I'm still processing.

"I would have stayed forever if I needed to. He would have too... but there was Marla. Do you believe in soulmates?"

"Yes." I'm far too quick with my answer.

"Well, if they exist. It's those two. She put up with so much from him. I don't know how she did it. I spent a lot of energy turning her into a monster. She's not though, she's just something I could never be. I do think she's still scared of me."

"To be fair, you were pretty scary. And um, thank you for telling me. I guess I shouldn't trust my memory as much."

"God no! Never trust your memory. It's far too selective. You're better off trusting whatever you feel." She puts her palm to my chest, close to my heart. "Trust this part because, at the end of the day, you can change your mind. You can't change what you feel about it."

Carlo locates a squirrel and his whine brings us both out of the conversation.

"Are you still mad at me?"

"Always." I pull her into a fast hug, against my better judgement, and squeeze tightly. My mom who suffered for 23 years, who woke each morning in a desert of love and still dragged herself mile after mile. For what? For us, for _him_. Love does not have to feel good to be true. If I had a seed of a doubt before our conversation that I loved Sue, it was gone now. Dust. Evaporated. I didn't want to wait for 23 years. I didn't want to be hidden away, behind a picture of children in her wallet. I wanted everything. 

\----------

Sue catches me as I'm passing through the kitchen. Her eyes, exhausted and red. 

"You left me alone with Austin. I thought we were supposed to be in this together? Do you know that he asked me to rank him against every single person I've dated. He wanted _notes_ , Emily. Notes." 

"I'm sorry, I was catching up with my Mom."

Her eyes immediately soften, "That's good. Are you two.. okay?"

_I see Sue again, clutching Marla's hand with her tiny sash. Sue, being shielded from the screaming. Sue, on the other side of a window. Would she remember it? The woman who had blared her horn and screamed obscenities at her. Was she scared when it happened? Did she remember the eyes in the backseat?_

"Yeah, I think we are. So, Austin?"

"He asked..", she chooses her words carefully to not upset me, "we don't say anything about you and I. He said he'll sleep on the floor of the bedroom tonight." It tastes acidic. I definitely don't like it but I understand that we aren't in a position to make demands. We both know all we've asked of him. She can always sense when I start to withdraw into the swirling abyss of my own mind. She hooks her finger under my chin and pulls me back up to meet her eyes. 

"I wish I could sleep with you tonight. You know that?" She guides my chin to her own mouth before closing the conversation with a chaste kiss. In all the drama, I'd forgotten the power that Sue has over me and I find myself leaning forward again, hungry. I'm an angry sea, she's the break in the clouds.

There are voices in the other room but muffled enough for us to know we're safely out of sight. I advance more, not wanting it to end, trying to fit every bit of desire into these seconds, knowing they'll end quickly. Sue moves with me, as always. As I'm advancing, she's pulling me closer by my belt loops. I chance a glance in both directions before backing her up to the counter and lifting her onto it. 

Sue giggles with the effort before sliding back. The granite cool against the back of her legs. Her arms wrap around my neck and I nuzzle my head into her chest. It is the most natural thing, this love. 

"You know, if you want to have some fun tonight, I got this." I reach behind her head into the spice cabinet. After searching for a few seconds, I withdraw a small, discrete blue bottle with an eyedropper. Innocent, almost. "It's THC concentrate. Super strong. Just one or two drops into your hot chocolate and you'll be blissfully unaware of Austin's snoring." 

"Where did you get that?" she hisses and I shrug in response. "This is the best worst idea you've ever had. You're my lifesaver." 

I'm standing directly between her legs now. " _Your_ lifesaver?"

She nods and smiles into me, "My hero."

"I think that means I'm entitled to some mouth-to-mouth." 

She doesn't have time to point out my stupid joke before I meet her lips again. She gasps when my cold hands proceed to slide under her shirt and press themselves to her naked back. I smirk and in response, she pulls my hair tight, creating inches for her to speak,

"It's going to be over soon and when it is, I'm going to make you feel so good. The ' _again_ ' kind of good."

I whine a response. I was supposed to make this more difficult for her. Before either of us can continue, we hear a noise from the hallway and instantly push away from each other. Oil jumping from a hot pan. 

Marla stands on the other side of the kitchen, staring at us both. Sue is still seated on the countertop with her legs spread unnaturally wide, bottom lip red and swollen from my teeth. I'm at least 10 feet away, trying to fix my hair back onto my head. Completely normal situation over here. Marla hesitantly moves to the stove and stirs whatever is simmering. 

"I hope you both like stew. Well, it's actually more of a goulash--" 

But before Marla can explain the thousands of differences between goulash and stew, we both exit the room in different directions. I catch a glimpse of Sue and take pride in how hard she's still blushing. 

\------------

The stew-lash is good, despite whatever category it ended up falling into. The pie that Sue had made (naked in our kitchen last night, cherry filling sticky on her neck while I had licked it up) was better. When she had leaned close to serve me a piece, the memory was so acute that I had to bite my lip to contain it. Conversation remained relatively casual with Lavinia and my Mom taking turns monologuing. They spent ages discussing the different color palettes available internationally. At one point, Marla had interjected to agree with Mom and Mom actually allowed it. The tension between the two of them, tight as a string, but not as sharp as before. Progress, I guess.

Austin hunches his shoulders and clears his throat, stealing looks at me out of the corner of his eye. He looks to his right twice in succession, trying to communicate something telepathically. 

"Austin, can you help me with something in the kitchen?" He seems thankful that I understand his message and follows me into the narrow room. As soon as we cross out of sight, he exhales fully.

"This is really weird, man. Do you have any drugs?"

"Okay stoner. I didn't know you partook in such base novelties."

"Yeah well, this is super awkward and I have to watch you and Sue undress each other with your eyes the whole time. Seriously, Em. Pie? What's so sexual about pie? I've never done sex with pies but hey, maybe that's why my girlfriend turned gay." He throws his hands up with the last words, equally as dramatic as I tend to be. 

"Okay, chill out. I've got you." I attempt to comfort him while reaching for that same tiny blue bottle. "Give me your cup, one drop of this and you'll be on a different planet soon. Just finish your drink, say goodnight, and go sleep."

He eagerly accepts and downs the cup in one gulp. I catch the start of a smile and nod back to him. "Goodnight, Austin"

He responds back, "Goodnight Austin."

With Sue, all my senses were heightened. With him, I'm less concerned about being caught so when Marla enters the room, I don't make an effort to hide the bottle. 

"Oh, the hemp oil extract. Did you like it?" She asks us, emptying plates into the trash. 

"Wait. The what?"

"I was worried I added too much. I used it in every meal I made in Barcelona. The flavor... It's supposed to be subtle but no matter how much I added, I couldn't taste it at all. Is yours organic? Maybe that's it. I hope it wasn't too expensive, Emily."

I've mentioned how long it takes Austin to process things before, right? Somehow, he arrives at the conclusion faster than I this time. A loud gasp and his hands rushing to his mouth. My eyes start to draw the connection between the bottle to the stew to the empty plates. Line to line to line. Marla has come to expect odd things from us and perhaps, it's why she just exits the kitchen while we both stand in horror. 

"What do we do? Oh god. Should I throw up? I'm going to make myself throw up," Austin is panicking and rushing to the direction of the bathroom. The realization throws its anchor and settles, heavy in my stomach. I follow him and sit on the edge of the clawfoot tub. 

"It's not going to work, Austin, we ate too long ago. Just.. chill out, okay? Don't freak out. How many bowls did you have?"

"Three," Austin wails, "Am I going to die?"

Sue's arrival shocks both of out of the doorway. She chews on the corner of her lip, unsure of how to phrase it.

"Um. Lavinia and your Mom are acting... really strange? And I haven't spent that much time with your Mom but I think something might be... off."

"We know, Marla put drugs in the soup."

"Stew." Austin corrects me before hanging his head into the toilet bowl again. 

"What? Where did Marla get drugs? Why would she do th--" Sue stops, her eyes only on me. I don't think we've ever needed words to communicate. In fact, they tend to make things worse for us. If looks could kill, her glare is a shining sniper's dot on my forehead. "Shit." 

\----------

It was mutually agreed upon in the bathroom that we wouldn't say anything to anyone. The logic being, of course, that if they knew they had been drugged, they would panic and have a bad trip. The logic being, also, that I had attempted something similar in 8th grade at the school dance with rum and nearly got expelled. No one would believe that I had nothing to do with this. It was kinder, really, to keep them unaware. 

"Maybe they'll just... feel good and go with it, you know?" I offer.

"What if someone needs medical attention, Em? We have to call someone." Sue slides her hand over to rub my back in reassurance. She knows how I'm feeling and tries to not add to the guilt. 

"I barely ate any, I think I'm okay. My tolerance is a lot higher... can we just see how it goes? It's THC, you can't overdose. Medically, they're fine. I promise I'll call someone if we need to."

"So it's decided. We're all in agreement, yeah? We don't say anything unless it gets scary." Austin places his hand in between all of us. Sue places her own over his. Finally, I reach down and join them. We're in this together. 

However, as I raise my eyes to them both, I can't help but notice Austin's. I've never seen someone's pupils more dilated. He looks like a cartoon character, I try to keep the surprise from my face to not alert him. Sue, on the other hand, audibly gasps when she sees.

"What? Is it my hair?" 

Neither Sue or I can bring ourselves to tell Austin and she tries to fight back giggles. When I see Sue start to laugh, I'm overcome by such intense compassion for her and the ridiculousness of the situation, that I giggle with her. Austin, watching both of us fight laugher, starts to battle it on his own.

Within seconds, we're all hysterical. Sue is doubled over, trying to keep herself from falling on the floor. Austin has tears flowing down his face, my jaw is starting to ache with it. Each time it dies out, one of us snorts and it all comes rushing back. 

"Mom is on drugs right now", Austin is laughing so hard that no sound escapes. Something about his tone jars me out of it momentarily and the gravity of the situation sneaks in. 

I'm first out of the bathroom. I have to consciously force my legs to move. It's not as if they're too heavy, it's like they aren't connected. Legs are so awkward. These long, pale sticks we use to bring us from one place to another. I can't stop thinking about them and, because of it, they aren't working properly. So, I grab one knee and move it forward before grabbing the other and trying to do the same. Working them like a machine. While I'm suffering my newfound mobility issues, Sue has it more together. Instead of not functioning at all, she's gotten paranoid instead.

"Em. You're moving your legs weird. I don't like this. Stop moving them like that." She joins, trying to pick my foot off the ground for me. "I can't get it, It's stuck! Why aren't your legs working?" She's genuinely scared now.

"I'm okay, Sue. I'm okay. Here, see? I just needed to lift it. Gravity." I move my foot directly up and the rest of the leg follows, perhaps a little too high. Great, now my legs feel too light. In relief that I can still move, Sue throws her arms around my neck. I feel a gentle kiss next to my ear. Everything starts buzzing. The lights dim and flicker. I imagine Sue is kissing all the electricity out of the room. 

"You can't kiss electricity, Sue!" It feels very important that she know what I'm talking about at that second. 

"I know," she responds sadly. 

"Hey guys, I fixed my hair." We both look over to Austin whom we'd left in the bathroom moments ago. Where his perfectly sculpted brown curls once stood was what I can only describe as a wet mullet. Huge patches shaved nearly to the skin on the sides. He had taken his bangs and smoothed them straight with some sort of gel. While he first seemed proud, our reactions make way for doubt, "Oh no, is it bad?"

"Austin, what did you do? Why is it so wet?"

"I don't know!" He nearly wails, running his hands through it again. "I panicked and put some lotion in it!"

\----------

Eventually, the three of us make it to the great room with much difficulty. Sue had attempted to fix Austin's hair but the lotion wouldn't wash out so we wrapped his head in a towel. The journey of two rooms equated to miles in this state. It was a trek, we all clung to each other as we moved and if one got distracted, the others would pull them back on course. 

"I haven't heard anything from them in awhile." Sue whispers and it was true, we hadn't heard noise from the room with Marla, Mom, and Lavinia. Normally it would have been a welcome reprieve but just served to build the suspense as we got closer. "What if they all got murdered?" Sue's eyes grow wide at the thought, I can feel the terror start to spread to Austin as well before I put an end to it.

"No one got murdered, okay? We don't even know if they're high. Maybe we all got the most of it?"

Lavinia's voice, crystal clear and loud, 

_"Reading Rainbow changed my life!"_

"I think they're high too." Austin whispers. Sue and I both punch him in the arm in response.

\----------

Nothing could have prepared us for what was waiting in the great room. My Mom had decided to put everyone's coat on at the same time. Her head was buried in a sea of fabrics and her arms, coated with 6 layers, couldn't settle at her sides. Lavinia had opted to sit next to her but, distracted by the various textures, ended up curled in her lap petting what must be part of Austin's wool peacoat. 

"Does anyone else feel weird?" Marla asks, crosslegged on the floor with Carlo in her lap. He seems completely unamused by the entire situation. 

"No. I feel very normal right now." Lavinia answers from her throne of textiles. 

"Um, attention! Yes. Attention", Sue tries to command everyone with her voice but seems surprised at the volume of it. "We should all sit at the table and discuss some things." Everyone does their best to drag themselves back to their chairs.

"Austin, your hair looks really bad."

"Shut up! I know," he franticly tries to smooth it out again before giving up, a lost cause. 

"I know there's been tension tonight--" Sue is trying to get the words out but between the drugs and the Dickinson attention span, it's difficult to stay on track. It's the moments like this that I'm overwhelmed by the power Sue always seems to hold over me. While the world crumbles, I can only listen to her voice. It's as if my ears were trained only for her decibels. I think of us like that occasionally. Magnets, radios turned the same frequency, stowaways on duel ships just staring at each other like the horizon. I'm also increasingly aware of how difficult it is to focus right now. Under the table, I reach for her hand. Lavinia, on the other side of me, glances down and notices ours entwined. 

The crash of realization. Lavinia sees us, I see her. I see her seeing us. I need to intervene before everything starts to fall from my fingertips. Do something, Emily. Save her. Save yourself.

"Lavinia might get engaged!" I don't know where the sentiment came from. All the heads at the table turn to her.

"That's just lovely, Lavinia. Well, it looks like we'll have two weddings coming up" Mom winks, still wearing the coats but reaching a padded arm over to touch her hand. Sue unlaces her fingers from mine and glances down. Austin looks positively sick. "Austin, have you two set a date yet?"

"The 67th of Never-bruary," He can't help but laugh at his own joke. Unfortunately, Austin is the only one on his current frequency and no one else joins. The quiet grows, he begins to fall into the panic.

"What?" Marla asks. All eyes on Austin. The heat of each set slowly rising the temperature, degree by degree. He touches his neck and tries to widen the collar of his sweater. I see him gulp. 

"Sue does cam shows. Naked. Naked cam shows." Austin covers his mouth as soon as his words leave it, as surprised as we are to hear them. Sue shrinks further into her chair, away from all of us. I can feel the panic inside of her, the rabbit with darting eyes for the nearest exit. I want to reach over and grab her, keep her solid, stop her from running away. 

"What the _fuck_ , Austin? What's wrong with you?" I ask and it's clear that even he doesn't know. I instinctively lean towards Sue and place my hand on hers again. Everyone notices.

"Marla put drugs in the food." Sue pipes up, desperate for another distraction. 

"I did what?" Marla asks. 

"Once I got a library book and it had an anatomical picture of breasts and so I cut the picture out to keep and then I got nervous that someone would know so I threw the book in the pond." Austin can't stop the confessions that seem to roll out each time he opens his stupid mouth.

"Austin, _shut up._ " I couldn't send more venom with my words if I tried. 

"I'm bankrupt. I lost everything in an Etsy scam. I was the one doing the scamming but it didn't work and I lost all my money," Mom drops her own bombshell. "I have so many wineglass candle holders but they break when exposed to heat."

"Emily and I are in love." And it's Sue who finally says it out loud. There's a collective pause while everyone tries to process what's happened through substance addled minds. Dead stop. The countless confessions swirling. 

Marla is the first to speak.

"I'm pregnant. No, I _was_ pregnant. Last year, before Edward died. I lost the baby" she finishes. Her voice grows quiet at the end and the words ring into the air. I turn to her and see the woman outside the car. Unsure, caught in a love too big and too scary to fight against. The woman whose hand hovered over my Father's, scared to touch in fear he'd turn to ash and be gone. A love you can't own is still more precious than a love that leaves.

"Marla--", I start but never finish because Carlo emits a low growl. He's tensed on the floor, every muscle rigid, eyes trained on the back door which someone had cracked open to let more air in. 

And in the entrance, the biggest, _meanest_ porcupine I've ever seen. I fly into action and grab Carlo's collar, attempting to hold him back. He chooses that exact moment to lunge which results in me being dragged across the room. Austin jumps to his feet and slams the door shut. Unfortunately, it was after the beast's entrance, effectively closing him in with us. The porcupine starts backing into the corner, quills shuttering. 

Lavinia, somewhere, screams, "See? They _are_ in love!"

"Mom! Now!" I plead, hoping she'll understand and intervene. Carlo is in a rare state, his jaws gnashing. 

And Mom does understand. I decide at that moment that I can forgive anything she does for the simple fact that she understands me. She slips all the jackets off and throws them over the porcupine. The pile rustles in response. I silently thank the fact that Carlo doesn't have object permanence as he stops pulling and whimpers, confused.

Once Austin manages to push the pile of coats outside, armed with a broom and baking sheet as shield, we all have a minute to collect ourselves. Sue sinks down on the couch next to me and kisses Carlo gently on the head. I can't make it out but I catch snippets of, _'don't do that to us again', 'i was so scared'._

I recall the ding of the 'seatbelt' light on the flight to New York, all that time ago, and the text message coming through. Looking at all the faces surrounding me, Marla-- helping herself to a second bowl of stew (against everyone's advice). My mom, checking under the couch for stray quills, Lavinia trying to fix Austin's hair. I look at Sue. She had been a fragment to me. She had been a ghost. Trying to understand how all of those pieces fit together, all at once, makes my head start to throb. My vision start to spin.

The " _Hola Emily!_ ' sign. The brown sash. The sliver of light. All that pain and wonder mixed together, painted over on the fire escape year after year. Life after life. Every window in New York City. Every shingle I pried off. It was canvas now. Everything, art. Everything, joy. Sue's willow arms and her sharp laugh. This house that rose around my grief. All of it meaningless and important and culminating in Sue, at my feet, kissing my dog's head. Me, not asking her to stay. Her, staying anyway.

It's winter. All plants laid their heads to sleep in the dirt. The loons, mostly gone for winter, but a few having stayed behind. You know, most migrating birds have a single mate. They take the journey south each year, together. If one gets tired, they both rest. If one, for whatever reason, isn't able to make the journey that year, the other stays behind and faces the winter with them. They know it will hurt. They know they might not survive as well. Love is stronger than any of that.

We are stronger than that. She's so close to me now and all I can smell, all I can taste, is lavender, always. 

\----------

_Epilogue_

The espresso machine knocks to life, the steamer screeching into the otherwise silent house. It's with that, I'm pulled out of sleep. I had been somewhere dark in my dream. Someplace that felt like falling infinitely, into nothingness, it's a sensation I haven't had in years. 

Sue's papers are stacked at the table with messy names on the top. Middle school math equations with X equaling 8, likely, based on the mass of answers. My mathematician. Harrison got it wrong though. He had proudly written, "x=x" No shit, Harrison. 

"Hey Sue? This kid is dumb."

She answers from the great room, "Harrison? Yeah, we need to work on it. You would think that, when your Mom is the teacher, you try a little harder." 

And I know what she means. Harrison is off skipping rocks with Carlo by the water. I imagine his small hands, like my own, clutching Carlo's fur. It's grown white recently but none of us mention it, not wanting to hurt his feelings. The chickens must be clucking for breakfast at this point, Sue's been awake for quite awhile but I still find myself doing most of the work for them. 

I feel strong, warm arms wrap around me and lean back into them. Magnets. Warmth, Family. It turns out when you make room for it, love tends to stick around. I still write constantly but after my first collection received so many accolades that it lost its magic. How could I explain how everything, eventually, worked itself out? It did, that's all that matters. We still do Christmas together and, I'll admit, there were years when we'd revisit the blue bottle but purposefully. I keep all the poems for myself now, not wanting to share even a second of this happiness. Harrison calls for me from the distance about the tadpoles he found in the shallows. 

They're small for now but I trust they'll grow.


End file.
